With darkness comes fear. Light you feel safe, warm, alive. But that’s not life, life is darker, whether it be our childhood fear of stepping into a shadow or turning a sharp corner in an ally way, with the paranoia of something horrible waiting for you on the other side. Continuously making an appearance in the deepest inner tunnels of your mind.
But that’s it isn’t it? All in your head! Being forever led to believe none of these dark thoughts, dreams, nightmares are real, cease to exist. But what if all this time, all the stressing, all the compulsive and pounding fears led to something bigger, darker, the end?
Then there is the bigger question, end to what? Life? Life, being forced into an oblivious civilisation of people brought up in a Barbie doll world, fake as plastic. Among people motionless and mute, no better than robots. Living life in autopilot, having no control, forever wishing to crash and burn. To shatter like glass and within time disintegrate into nothing.
As even a gruesome death as such sounds more swell and refreshing than waking up to the soon to be early morning, blistering sunray. Streaming through your charcoal black curtains on a brisk and dewy winter’s new day. With no worries, more than you have slept in more than you should have. A faint memory as such only just lies here today, as anything else has been destroyed. Now it’s almost like our life is planned for us before creation.
Lucky for me, I never had the chance to experience and live in that past instinct world. Although I dread the thought of ever sharing its air, anything would be better than this wretched hell of a nightmare. That’s basically it, a nightmare; our nightmares.
You see darkness feeds on fear, it absorbs any chance of freedom and happiness and replaces it with horror and death. Our only danger was and is to look up, confronting our fears, our fears slowly devouring our souls, will to live, and strength. For those who have risked, have shown us survivors that our pain does not end. As the result of praying and facing the heavens for mercy is to lay cold. Cold among silence and embedded with dirt beneath the living.
Or at least that’s what I’ve heard…
You see I was born during the era of the dark days a place in which many named the time of the Holocaust. The days where streams stopped flowing, air faintly being remembered as fresh and alive, an age where singing began to fade away along with our spirits. Instead, I was introduced into a world of pain. A world where lungs were burnt by gases, along with the sharp and sudden realisation that your struggle for breath, an action gone unnoticed yet a life depends on it. A world where people bathed in streams of red, the buzzing of flies that clogged the non existent fresh air to the colonies of maggots and larvae that covered the diseased. An age where apart from the increasing choir of screams sounding day and night, we would experience the occasional day of silence. A day I dread more than any. A day of piercing emptiness and nothing, so deafening that you begin to give in to the evil and hope.
To be continued …
To me writing creatively is not work, it is an enjoyment. A time where I can block out everything and just focus on one simple thing, detail. To create a world unknown to reality. To give life to words…