diary / by Edward Mullany

The reader wonders, I think, whether the man’s mind at that moment is playing tricks on him (whether his brain, as its functioning begins to cease, is producing the images he ‘sees’) or whether some aspect of his person that is eternal, and moral (his soul, for example), is reaching for some final configuration, and, in leaving him, is revealing to him an avenue of the future that embodies, to an extent, his regret.