True Dark

The darkness wrapped itself around her like a whirlpool, her senses diminishing one by one. Soon, oblivion. She marvelled at the memories fleeting, flying by, everyone she qualified with the thought a smile, a frown, a laugh or a furrowed brow, until even the sensation of that left her. She wondered for a moment, considering the long tired pain her life had drawn into, how she only wished for rest, until that sensation left her too. There was no wanting in the dark.

She pondered on herself, on the experience of her being. A nervous feeling flashed in her withering conscience: what is left of me? What is left for those dear to me? For my loved ones? She began to imagine them, but the memories of them had gone, too bright for this place, and that nervous feeling melted uneasily but passively into shadow.

For who was she to rally against the void? The base darkness’s of creation enveloped her and she was beyond numb. Beyond weightless. Beyond us. For who even was she? That knowledge had all but left. A fleeting feeling. A moment in time. Language escaped her. Abstract concept boiled down. identity was null.

But there was still a hunger. Still comfort. Still warmth. Still pain.

No longer bond by the understanding of self, space and time, the experience that once was contemplated the vast eternity of night and cried out in terror, though it had no mouth to scream. How could it cry?

But it must.

It must scream to the heavens of this understanding, of this feeling. It must find a way to scream.

Eyes open. light shines through. The hum of life begins to fill the ears. A newborn wails a story it nor its parents will ever know, for it is a tale about darkness. And there is no understanding darkness for creatures blinded by the sensation of light.