11
Sep
The ideas that occur while showering…
I raged against the dying of the light, but it was an empty rage, a hollow rage. All but the last glimmers of the sun had gone, and the death that is twilight stole over the land. I knew this time had to come, and I accepted it, for I had been a party to the slaying, to the degradation. My hand was one of those that had held the sickle, and through action and inaction I had let it drop. Thus had I helped slay the light.
Now came the dark times, the end times, as the world built a bitter cold shell about itself, hoping to protect what little remained of the glorious times when light had gleamed fully across the land. Perhaps it would work, perhaps not. I only knew that I would not be here to see the ending. Those of us who had slain the light had looked at one another and parted in sorrow and sadness, one last night of hedonism before a shadow stole across us. That next morning, we said tearful goodbyes and walked away, never to see or hear from one another again.
We each travelled long and far, heading to distant peaks and observatories where we could see what we had done, where we could see the dying of the light. For my part, I choose mountains near my home, where I could see what I had done, and impale myself on the spear of shame.
I was the last of the slayers, the last to keep a tenuous grip on life. One by one, I had felt the others slay themselves as they had the sun, dying in the hopes that it would resurrect the great beauty of the skies. I alone remained, and a bitter anger fuelled me. I would not die until I had seen what I had wrought, until I was the last creature to walk the living planet. I would force myself to see each moment, to live each day in pain, to face the anguish as I woke and saw no sun. I would not take the easy road, the sure road, the quick road. No, I would stay, stay until there was nothing left but me.
And so here I stand, my eyes turned west, watching the setting of the sun for the last time. The sky to the east is the black of night, and no stars twinkle in the heavens above. Below me, the village of my home cries out in fear, for rumour and knowledge has reached them, and they turn to the old ways, the evil ways. Tonight, my daughter will be sacrificed, a foolish demand that the sun return. Tomorrow, it will be another man’s daughter, and so on until there are no more left. Then it will be the turn of the boys. This village will not last.
I go to my cave now, for I have seen the dying of the light. I have seen the sun sink below the horizon for the last time. Now I will wait, and I will watch for the end of all things.
Comments
Leave a Reply
Coyote Southbridge on 09.12.2010
Beautifully written and very sad. Great job.
J.C. Montgomery on 09.12.2010
The visuals left in my mind, the feelings evoked – powerful. Not only do you describe the darkness for the reader, you help them feel it. Well crafted.
The Four Part Land on 09.13.2010
The opening of the story was based on a personal experience. More or less. Up until the end of the second paragraph, where the story took over and went its own way.
I’d say that the main character hates himself, hates his actions so much that he will live to spite them, to prove that despite the ruin he has brought, life need not die. Of course, he could be wrong.
Steve Green on 12.31.2010
Another hard-hitting short James, it paints a dark picture of grim times in the making, and even grimmer times to come. Very nicely worded.
ganymeder on 12.31.2010
Wonderful language. The poet would be proud.
Adam Byatt on 01.04.2011
Potent imagery and sense of hopelessness. Quite stirring.
Adam B @revhappiness
Lara Dunning on 01.05.2011
So poetic, filled with a romantic sadness. I would love to see more of this and see if he feels his wait will give him any redemption.