A Short Story

The tall, dark man walked down the hallway. His silhouette seemed ominous in the narrow confines of the dark corridor. It was endless; his walk was endless. In monotony he droned on, slowly battling fatigue and hunger. Finally, he came to a staircase. Looking up into its long, elevated slope, he felt that he could not fight death any longer. But suddenly, in the farthest depths of his vision, in a realm barely percepted by his mind, he saw light. A tiny, elusive pinprick of light, far, far away. And this drove him on. His mind was empty, his heart, emotionless. Everything was concentrated on carrying on, on reaching that one pinprick of light, that miniscule hope that lingered, that gave him his last will for life. His back bent. His body shook. He had nothing left. Whatever was making him move, it was an invisible force, one that was not his own. His body was dead, but the will gave it power. And slowly, ever so slowly, the light grew. It grew and grew until it could grow no more; he was there. He had made it. He had risked death to have life, and he had won. And in the light he was renewed, so that he could not pass away.