A small strip of light at the bottom of the door lit the hall way up, but only enough to define its walls. I traveled towards it, keeping my face down, following the mistaken hope. I fixed my eyes on the ground because anything above it was complete darkness. The hall was long, it seemed to stretch for miles. I slid my hands down the face of the walls, hoping for guidance, hoping for reassurance that I was still actually going forward. As I neared the door, the hall closed in on me, it was darker than before, the walls closer than before, I found myself struggling to breathe, feeling like the sailor trying to keep his head above water after he’s capsized. I breathed heavy and pushed myself ahead, feeling my fingertips dragging along the walls. When I finally reached the door it took all I had left in me to open it.  A deep breath, a weak push, a faint heart; that’s all I had.
The door cracked open spewing out its locked up light. Light that for centuries always symbolized hope. This day it did not. This day light was different. The light brought to view a wide room, exactly the image I had been expecting. I had expected the people, but not this many. I had expected the tears, but not in gallons. I had expectations, but not this high. The room was structured with rows of pews, stain glass walls, and a candle lit pulpit, but all the attention was given to the front stage. I stood in the door way, half of me waiting for anyone to notice me, half of me not wanting them to. For as long as I stood there, no one turned around. No one broke their gaze. I took a hesitant step forward. Then another, and another. With each step I passed the people in the pews, not a single one moved. The further I got down the aisle the more I began to recognize the people. The people in the pews were people I had known all my life, people I had grown up with, and people I loved. I began to feel like the drowning man again, only this time I found myself crying. Tears rolling down my cheeks. Each step I took led me closer to the reality I never wanted to face.  I neared the end of the aisle and stopped. My feet had taken me to the edge of a short staircase. Slowly, I inched my way up, taking each step with caution, but even more hesitation. I must have climbed a thousand steps before I reached the top. Or at least, that’s how it felt. Finally my last step brought me to a plateau, the stage. There on the stage sat an elongated object. Dark, and mysterious, but identifiable. A casket. I walked up to its edge, tears still streaming down my face. I slowly looked up and down it. I studied its wood, every crevice, every grain, I felt it. I slid my hands over it. As a guided my fingertips I could feel the emptiness it held. No life inside, no life outside. No matter how beautiful, it was just a dead wooden box. The face of death itself. Carefully, I eased myself to the end of the box. At some point the wood stopped and an opening began. The opening brought light to the figure inside. I leaned forward, eyes locked on an image I was all too familiar with. An image that stunned me. My head, my face, my body. It was me. I was the figure inside