Serial Fiction- The New Dark. (Part- 2.)
I will write this while fire grants me the comfort to do so. A square of chocolate and a crudely brewed black coffee barely provide me the energy with which to wield this pen. They are a limited delicacy in this time. A delicacy that will quickly fade. To consume such is a celebration. A celebration of being able to put pen to paper in a world such as what has become. I am alive. Somehow… I am alive… still.
From what I can gather, it has been two days since my last entry. Minutes. Hours… Days, weeks, months. They all bleed into one. I still track what I believe are days, based on the cycle of asleep and awake. But what is time? What is its relevance in this situation? It’s a thing that existed once. It was created for the routine. Control. A construct of humanities need for such a thing. But what was once is now consumed by its rightful owner. We never owned this world. We never could. We took residence on something we could never truly understand, and not respecting it would inevitably be our folly… and through that… our end. The new dark, I have come to call it. I often wonder what it has come to call me. Am I significant enough to it for a name? It seems to be studying me. Watching me. Still.
I’m still not sure whether I am considered ally or adversary. I am still here. But why? There is no one else. Not here, anyway. There were screams, at first. Screams of those I once knew. Neighbours. Friends. They were prolonged… the screams. It was almost as if they were in a routine, although that may have been my confusion of time in this reformed world. Torture. That was my first guess. They were being tortured. It was a cacophony of agony, combined cries of sorrow. They weren’t as lucky as I. I still question as to why I was so lucky. But was it luck? Is there a reason to this? Could one as limited as myself even fathom such a thing? I know not, but what I do know is… they are out there.
I close this short entry with a heavy mind. I need sleep. That’s all I seem to need these days. It eludes. I still hear those screams resound from within myself. I still question them and there relevance in this. What exactly does this New dark have planned for the remanence of humanity? Am I a project of the darkness? A test of the shadow? An unforeseen significance?
It’s been two weeks since my last entry. It. Them. They. Whatever it is, it’s changing. Adapting. The New Dark and what lurks beyond. They came to me, the night before, whilst I feigned sleep. They clawed flesh, not viciously, but curiously. They spoke in tongue not of this world. Clicks and scrapes of communication through coarse throat. They were three, from what I could tell. If they noticed I was awake, they took no heed in it. I risked a peek to see what they were, although what they were, I am still not certain. Their skin was the shade of night, and although before my eyes, I could not describe feature. It was like they were there, but not entirely. They were one with shadow and void… except their eyes. Their eyes were like the universe captured in crystal. Ebbs of purple and green encased in obsidian, speckled with dots of white that resembled a thousand stars. The beauty of it. The beauty in the darkness, that emanated such deathly intent. But were they death? Yes, they reeked of such and had the means for such thing, but it is ultimately intent that creates a monster… and a monster they did not seem. A reclaimer, perhaps. A thing born to reclaim that which has become obsolete in a new world. A thing born to weed the weak. Perhaps.
A question is now imposed… what do I do? Do I wait for the possible fade from existence? I am limited. My source of sustenance is limited. I will expire to basic need… eventually. But do I want this? Is this my fate? No. I refuse the mundane. Do I wait to see what they will decide for me? They are an enigma. The good. The bad. Are they either? No. I will not have my fate decided for me. That is not who I am. Do I run for the light? The light. Something I have avoided mention or consideration. Is the light not the thing you run toward when you are ready to leave this mortal coil? The light. Has death taken hold already, unbeknownst to this soul and flesh? The light. It ebbs ever faintly, beyond where the New Dark lurk. I find myself staring at it in times of feeling lost. It calls, but is it fate? I know not, but what it is, is the path I choose…
To be continued…