Fragment from a young woman's journal

I stand on the grass before the windowless warehouse. The sky is blue, the sun is halfway down the sky. I am standing just at the edge of the shadow the building casts on the grass.

The Evil Ones ring me at a distance of about 60 yards. If I tried to flee they would fall on me, but they dare not come closer now. I understand now that their nature constrains what they can do. They can do nothing now to interfere with the process I am starting.

I lean forward. With my eyes open, and my arms spread wide, I cast myself forward and down onto the grass at the edge of the shadow. My face slams into the close-cropped bristly grass. There is only a minor stinging, no real pain. I pick myself up again. The Evil Ones are silent.

Again I throw myself forward and down. My hands are traitorous. They want to fly up and shield my face or break my fall. I must suppress their urge. I hit the hard ground again. The grass cushions me little. This time a pebble scratches my cheek. I get up again.

Over and over I lift my body and throw myself down again on the shadowed grass. The sun moves across the sky; the shadow shifts and grows. My face and breasts grow bruised and then numb from bearing the impact of my weight. Then my arms and my whole body grow sore and then numb. I am so weary. My mind is exhausted, near blank. The Evil Ones stir and mutter to themselves.

I stand wearily once more and throw myself forward and down into the shadow again. I do not fall. My mind stops frozen, clear and still as crystal. I hang in mid-air, glowing. I am radiating pure energy; it begins to crackle and stream out from me in blue banners as I hang there. My last thought was: I have come into my own at last.

That is all I can remember clearly. My memory ceased to tell me a story when my mind stopped. The rest are wordless fragmentary images and instants and sounds. I think I remember this:

The Evil Ones began to scream in shrill painful voices of anger and hate and fear. Their screams were cut short as they flashed up into flame and burned. Then I was flying low through their ranks, trailing lightning. They fled or fought me. I remember weapons and claws swinging at my face and sublimating into shockwaves of white vapor when I raised my hand. Few survived that day, and only those that fled.

The first I remember of my own self again is after nightfall. I was sitting hunched on the mud in the field, with my arms wrapped around my knees and my head resting on my arms, thinking about nothing. Robert found me and put a jacket over my shoulders, and poured me some hot soup from a thermos. He was very brave to come after me. Then he led me back to our tents, where I am writing this. Everyone says it was a great victory, but I do not know what it was. Soon we will all have to flee again. They say that I am a great hero, their prophetess, their queen. I do not know what I am.

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Subject: Fragment from a young woman's journal
Organization: Inst. for Epistemological Pathology
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Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1993 21:21:22 GMT