The Darkness

After escaping. for a few months an old friend returns to the Darkness.

The Darkness

B.A. Mickey

 

            I sit alone, in the darkness. Behind me music plays, Bruce Springsteen…I believe. He signs of a time where things were better, both in his life, and the lives around him. The Glory Days, I sigh, as now I understand the feeling. The radio picks up static as the thunderstorm strengthens. I hear the pounding of the rain upon the metal roof, just a few feet above my head. Every few seconds, as if on cue, the darkness outside my window is quickly illuminated with a bright flash of light, and immediately followed with the crack of thunder. As I pull down the blind, pure and utter darkness stares back at me.

           

            The house is dark as well. Not a light on. The low volume of a radio station being lost in a sea of static now plays what I can hardly decipher as Led Zeppelin. The dim light behind the clock illuminates the numbers 11:11. I would make a wish, but it seems as if all my wishes work against me now. I lean back in my chair and glance to the left, a guitar, once one of my closest companions sits alone and dusty, the passion for that too, has long ago moved on. I raise the bottle of Old No. 7 to my lips again and allow it to dump down my throat. It still burns, but not the way it once did. Flames have a way of doing that, diminishing over time, losing their purpose.

 

            I glance around my dark room, while the soundtrack has now given way to complete static, the sound of the radio being lost in it’s own darkness. Remnants of speckled everywhere I look. The picture of us when we went on that train ride, what happened to us, the smiles framed in that picture are genuine. I look at my dry-erase calendar. I’ve never actually filled it in, you always did. I still have not erased the Happy Valentine’s Day note you’ve left there, and the handmade card you gave me for the same occasion lays directly beside it. I reach back for the bottle, and take another swig. Each time burns less and less. Somewhat symbolic, no?

 

            It hurts. I’m not going to sit here and lie. The pain gets me every day. It tries and tries and tries to get me down and day after day I fight to stay upright. Sometimes I slip, like right now, I’m slipping. But tomorrow I’ll wake up and walk tall. I loved you. I loved you with my whole being and it was not enough. The fact that that wasn’t enough will forever haunt and confuse me. How? How could we have fallen apart. We were perfect. I looked at you and saw a future. I looked at you and saw the love of my life. I take another drink, a long, full, deadly drink. The pain is gone, I have adapted. I’m drunk. The radio fights back through the static and I faintly hear Eddie Vedder singing to me. The words could fit no more perfectly.

 

“…I Know someday you’ll have a beautiful life, I know you’ll be a star, in somebody, else’s sky, but why, why, whyyyyyyy, can’t it be, oh can’t it be mine?....

 

            The words trail off as I my grip on reality fades. You were everything to me. My happiness moved through you. Perhaps we needed time away, but not a lifetime. For a lifetime without you is a lifetime not worth the pain. It is not a lifetime in the light but rather an eternity in the darkness. And now I stand alone in the middle of this room, bathed in the odor of alcohol and marijuana, as waves of radio static and music that is no longer important wash over me. Once again becoming familiar with an old friend. The feeling of once again being truly alone in this vicious life returns to me. As I stare into the darkness, the thunder cracks, but no light flashes. The Darkness has returned, and this time my love, I fear it plans to stay.

 

 

End

Author's Note

first story posted

Reviews

[Salem Gray]

Very Gothic feel to this! Its a short piece but I got a lot out of it. The voice is strong, your descriptions are clean and very colorful. Have you seen anything by Guillermo Del Toro? This is what your style reminds me of: Gothic horror.
Anyway, I think you could afford to lighten back on the amount of times you describe the darkness. I understand its a pivotal idea of the story but you could describe these dark feelings without actually using the word "dark," maybe? Doing this could help with your atmosphere and emotion.
Also, the sudden use of second person tense in the third paragraph sort of threw me off. It felt jarring. Maybe cut back on the "you" "you" "you" and use a name or some other way to address this ex-lover in a third person sense? "She" or "her" pronouns could work.

Anyway, wonderful job! Loved the atmosphere you built.

[Dogbomb3]

Somebody likes the darkness! You certainly conveyed a strong feeling of solitude. Maybe some other imagery / metaphor for the darkness could add to the piece.