swamped

The last thing I could remember was the accident. There I was, flat on my back, with the asphalt vibrating beneath my skull as the 18-wheeler roared toward me. I remember the monstrous pressure of the truck's tire rolling over my face, followed by the sense that something had both shattered and exploded-- all of it happening too fast for me even to form a proper emotion. I could feel my consciousness spreading, splattering all over the road, chunks and smears of it liberated by the tire. Everything went white... then black.

I woke to find myself in a bright realm with no walls, a gently whirling mixture of azure and alabaster all around me. A breeze, as warm as breath and as sustaining as truth, blew past or through me like an exhalation of sheer purity and uncomplicated care. There were shades, but no shadows. I was floating-- that, or resting on a material so soft and evanescent that it might have been living cotton candy. I twisted my body; the surface, if that's what it was, yielded beneath me, allowing me to orient myself vertically. The light seemed to come from everywhere at once, and despite the strange sensation that I may or may not have been waist-deep in some sort of diaphanous substance, I found that my reorientation provided me no clue as to which way was up. But this did not discomfit me: whatever calm had stolen over me had left me content, not disoriented. I was nestled in the comforting palm of an alien-yet-familiar sky.

The shapes around me might have been clouds. Like clouds, they were open to interpretation: a horse here, an old man's face there, a copse over yonder. I cast about me, descrying shapes, imposing patterns on formlessness. I felt no pressure, no hurry: if time flowed in this realm, it flowed in a manner completely unknown to me. I felt buoyed and comforted, as if this realm where more than a mere place: every part of it felt alive, suffused with meaning, and I too was alive to enjoy it.

But after a second or a century of contemplation, I spied a solid shape winging toward me. It reminded me of a bird, and as the shape neared me, I saw that it was a mighty eagle. Its approach caused me no fear; I stared at it in awe and fascination, and with an upwelling warmth in the breast that might have been love. The eagle was many things-- this I could see at a glance-- but above all it was supremely good.

The bird of prey slowed. A tentacle of whiteness snaked across my line of vision like a branch conjured out of nothing, and the eagle settled onto it as if that wispy tendril were as firm as ironwood. The bird eyed me sternly, then it spoke.

"Your work is not done," the eagle said, as if it were pronouncing a sentence. Its voice was both grave and gentle, but hinted at immense power. With one cry, this creature could shatter a mountain.

I blinked. Thought seemed suddenly difficult: I had settled into this realm so comfortably that my mind had contented itself with passivity. I hadn't bothered to ask myself why I was here, or what was to happen next. The eagle had stirred these questions within me, but my sluggish mind could not give them voice.

The eagle seemed to understand my confusion.

"O Kevin," it said, "You were indeed killed in that horrible accident, but your presence in this realm is not condign. There is work for you to do."

I blinked repeatedly, striving to comprehend the import of the eagle's words.

"Come," the eagle said, and took off. Purely by instinct, with no idea how I was capable of this, I took off and followed the eagle. Our path was a strange one; to my merely human mind, it was both simple and complex. We seemed to follow a series of loops and spirals, rushing this way and that, describing some impossible, writhing shape in the holy sky. At the same time, we seemed to be flying as straight as an arrow toward our goal, whatever that goal was. My mind was unable to make sense of the journey.

When we stopped, I found myself standing in what appeared to be the bottom of a vast, living cylinder. A sound that might have been music, or singing, or something else entirely, filled my ears; its general tone was that of gladness and praise. Far above, if "above" was indeed the word, shone an immense light, but the light did not burn: it illumined the cylinder, whose walls moved and danced in rough bands or rings, clearly alive. It was almost as if each ring were composed of imponderable masses of creatures, perhaps creatures like the eagle, dancing in stately rounds. Some rings rotated slowly; others rotated more quickly, each ring the expression of the natures of the creatures that composed it.

Something like confetti began to fall or drift toward me from one of the rings. Before I had time to ask the eagle what it was, a familiar rectangular shape appeared in my hands: my laptop. Dumbfounded, I said nothing as the confetti fell toward me in happy little fragments. The fragments rearranged themselves, coalescing into twelve sheets of paper that continued to fall or fly toward me and my laptop. Quite without my willing it to be so, my arms stretched forth, holding the laptop before me. All twelve sheets of heavenly paper flew smoothly into the machine without a single impact, like ghosts passing through a wall.

"Open your laptop," the eagle commanded. I did so, and saw that the twelve documents had resolved themselves into MS Word email attachments on my screen. I looked at the eagle uncomprehendingly.

"Open the files," ordered the eagle.

I did so... and was confronted with something I knew well: documents in varying states of English, some good, some mediocre, some terrible, all authored by Korean translators versed in business and legal English.

"Proofread these twelve documents, and your entry into the glorious realm is assured. But, be warned: here in the Great Presence, time does have meaning. You have only six hours to proofread all twelve documents, some of which are unwontedly long. Good luck." The eagle gravely turned its head toward the awesome light, gave a great cry, frayed, and disappeared.

A swirl of cloud approached me, helpfully solidifying into a desk and a chair. I flopped the laptop onto the desk, sat in the chair, looked at the computer's clock, and desperately began proofreading.


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