You begin to think, to wonder, to worry. Where does the light come from, and what does it mean? Is it dangerous, or innocuous? Is it something to move towards, or move away from? Questions, countless questions stream through your head. Each one increasing your trepidation.
You make a choice. You begin to move towards the light. You're not dead after all -- you think.
You thought you knew how far away the light was. You were wrong. The room lied to you, the size of the room beguiles you. You approach the light, inexorably slowly it seems. Time passes, though you are all but blind to it's march. You are only aware of the light getting closer, for you neither hunger or thirst. Primitive bodily functions seem to be no longer required. You wonder what your favourite food was, what food even tasted like.
Suddenly, you're there, at the edge of the light. The blinding light streaming down, or streaming up? The light is wider across than you expected. You test the waters, the light feels pleasant, warm, inviting. You step into the light, welcoming the warmth, though you were not cold. You raise your outstretched arms and bask in the glow.
You look down and are suddenly chilled. You see the floor for the first time. It's surface stares back at you, polished to a smoothness which only millions of footfalls could have achieved. You see your feet, bare and magnificently contrasted with the floor below. You don't see your shadow.
You look back up to your arms, intending to test the unusual light, but your vision is drawn elsewhere. You stare at the centre of the pool of light.
There, in the centre of the light, stands a massive, blindingly white table.
