Night fell early that day, the roiling black clouds a vengeful slow-moving spider stalking across the city on stilts of lightning. Amber grabbed at the railing along the few steps leading up to Mandala House just as an ear-splitting crackle of a lightning bolt wrent
the skies and made contact with the railing, throwing Amber down the steps.

She did not hear the thunder as it continued across the city, nor the wail of the siren as
it arrived and then departed, hastening her to the hospital, where staff awaited her. She
was still unconscious when the doctors examined her, knowing that each lightning case is
unique. Time being of the essence, they wheeled her unconscious form into a pre-surgery
alcove. The prep completed, they readied for action.

Amber turns her head and stares at the ceiling several inches above her face, thoughts cloudy and no sensation in her body. Suddenly a buzzer sounds and the king’s men show
increased activity. “We’re losing her, step back.” One reaches for the paddles and then
Amber is no longer on the ceiling, but headed for the light. It is a slow process, being
moved along the tunnel, like birth in reverse. Her life has a bookend now: Finis. She can see
it as a whole: the good and the bad, as her journey slows even more, like a train pulling
into a station. Hands reach out for her, pulling her closer. She is crowning gloriously,
filled with warmth and indescribable tenderness. Her beloved grandmother is there,
reaching out to embrace her when an imperious voice resonates and suddenly everything
stops. “Halt!” An imperious voice resonates: “You must come back. It is not your time yet!”

“No!” Even as Amber struggles to be released, she is pulled backwards away from the light,
then much faster, and suddenly she shoots out onto the cold metal of the operating table and
inio her body again. The king’s men are happy. She is not.

_________