In the horizon, a dark figure is visible, attaining its darkness from the huge mass of light behind it.
As it approaches nearer, you could see determination in its walk. At the same time, you get the feeling that it is uncertain of its destination. It might be walking away from something, and it might be walking towards something, or both at the same time. As if it is knowing and ignorant of where it is going. The light behind it begins to hide behind the horizon, and it becomes clearer. The “it” is a “he”. He is trying to feel his surroundings, just like a blind man does, though he is clearly able to see. He is exploring the environment he is in, as if he is alien to this. But this is nothing but arid landscapes under a heartbreaking sky; one that knows that darkness is bound to encompass it soon. The light is now just barely peeking from behind the horizon. The earth he is roaming is weary, depressed, and cracked through. Dry veins.
Our man is still bewildered with what is around him, despite the fact that he is surrounded by —- well, nothingness. He gives you the impression of being a newborn, but his rugged adult features destroy the hints of juvenile innocence you get from his behavior. He looks well built, scruffy and dusty, as if he has been traveling for centuries, but would a man who has traveled for that long a time be intrigued by a place as dull as this? Even the air is still. The only things audible are the confused footsteps and anxious breaths of the man. Anxious for what? There is nothing worth being aware of, let alone being anxious for, in this futility.
Darkness creeps in dastardly from the side opposite to that in which the sun-like thing is setting. His heart is racing, his breaths becoming shorter and faster. Could a man of such masculine vibe be afraid of the dark? The last beam left has been obliterated. The darkness has suffocated the light, and now it fills whatever is above his head. He halts immediately. The once audible sounds are now muted. No more footsteps. No more breathing. A frustrating hush spreads through the scene. The silence is absolute.
If there was anything such as complete solitude then he is experiencing it now, standing alone in a vast, open cage of darkness. His feet planted in the earth. His stand suggests strength, but his gestures are those of a baby brought to a new, frightful, unfamiliar place. He is scanning the darkness left and right, perhaps looking for someone, something, a companion of some sort. The strangest thing, darkness seems to be a concept foreign to him. He attempts to make a move, then hesitates and returns to an awkwardly placid stand. Looks up, down, west, east, turns around over himself, and slashes in vain at the darkness that engulfs him. Once, twice, thrice, a bunch of times, until he realizes that there is nothing, nothing to slash at, nothing to fight. The enemy is not there, yet he can feel its presence. He ignores that thought, for fear that it might add to his growing perplexity. He is calm again, breathing steadily, still standing, and standing still.
Random images tease his brain. Images he fails to understand. He tries to clutch at any one of them in an attempt to at least detect any kind of meaning it might hold, but the pictures keep slipping through his fingers. Nothing is visible to him now except the images in his head, the darkness is overwhelming in the outside world. His mind’s eye is the only eye he can make use of, for now, so he involuntarily plunges himself into the pool of cryptic visual metaphors in his head. He goes deeper, deeper, and deeper, till he touches at something. A memory? Just as he attempts to lift the veil off that obscured image, an unexplainable spasm returns him to his past state of consciousness, totally aware of the chilling loneliness he is in. He begins to sweat and shiver, and takes refuge in his inner self once again.
One, two, three stamps with his feet to the old earth beneath, so as to make sure that it is safe to sit on. Tired, he cradles himself like a fetus does, with his arms embracing his folded legs, and his face buried between his knees, and rocks steadily back and forth.
At last something breaks the terrible silence. Dripping. Rain? No, it’s coming from something too close to the ground to be rain. It’s tears. The earth becomes even more depressed than it was. After eternities of drought, she expected something more worthwhile, a liquid that has the potential to resurrect, rejuvenate. Instead she receives the saddest fluid in the world. Not exactly the clear solution she was praying for. Oh but her patience is unsurpassed, “you see, when you wait too long for something, you do not mind waiting some more”. She might have said that, but she chose to keep silent. And why wouldn’t she? When was the last time anyone has listened to her? The man is trying to make sense of this salty discharge coming from his eyes with different explanations, but he fails consistently. Again, he ignores the thoughts that occupy his head, this time for the sake of getting some rest.