The Designated Judas

Somewhere in the distant dark there is a whining, whirring noise. This sound, emanating from an unknown source, rises and falls in speed and volume, but is otherwise continuous. As consciousness grows, this sound continues in my conscious world, where light also exists, and the source of the sound is revealed. Computer servers. In my house, three or four feet away. Mystery solved. But what is not clear is why I am lying on the floor, and why I have the worst headache of my life. This is a memory. And as messed up as this sounds, especially considering how totally horrible I felt at the time, I now consider those dimly remembered flashes that preceded full comprehension as the last happy moments of my life. Not happy as in a warm feeling of contentment, but as in the unencumbered bliss that is associated with ignorance.