- Books, Literature, and Writing
Claimed by Shadow
Beyond the gears of day time, she sits in the dark corner of her mind as she watches the world unfold. It was getting dark and the world was heading to its slumber. Never ending, the cold descends as a blanket drenched over the mundane lives, intruding and forcing their bodies to surrender to sleep and fatigue. Still she remains in her corner, silently watching the world unfold from the hole she made in the thick brick walls that separated her during daylight from world.
On days like these, or were they night like these, she would rest her forehead on the cold bricks and close her eyes. Taking in the beauty of the night, the serenity it would offer, the rush of the wind on the cold pavement 6 stories below, and the gust of wind that would rip leaves off the near by trees; she would intently listen to other souls that might share her introspection of the world they lived within and that that lived within themselves. She would shut her emotions, silence the turbulence of her daylight mind, and simply let the world she was shut out from swallow her whole. She would lock on to the feeling of the walls falling around her, releasing her from her daylight chains. She would feel for once the wind slapping on her cheeks, telling her that yet again, she is alive, breathing, and though a mere existence, she matters. She, found solace in the bleakness of the silent night.
On nights like these she was one with the silence, the silence that she lacked during daylight. On such peaceful nights, she would feel the shattered pieces of her being forcefully bind themselves in place. She would feel the worries of her mundane existence, her rejected self, and the fears of her daily life fade into the tranquility of the night. On nights like these, the ceiling of her confinement in this jungle of civilization would melt, and she could find her soul reaching to the far away galaxies, touching the stars, watching them through their birth, burn out in the vicious cycle of life and fade into the vastness of oblivion. On nights like this, she knows that she is nothing but a spec of dust in this vast universe, and she finds tranquility in knowing that she is significant though insignificant at times.
Sure enough, she could not let the world in daytime touch her skin, for she was cast out, yet at night, she would blend with the dark and her rejected essence would dim enough to camouflage her being and swallow her into the night. At night, she was part of its mesh and was taken in by the shadows that claim both man and animal, guilty and innocent, free man and slave. She would fit in the anonymity granted by the dark, and no eye would judge her for the skin of scars she wore.
In the darkness that whispers sleep to all the breathing bodies, she stands a one eyed ogre in a village for the blind, a princess among peasants, and a normality among oddities. She stands with her scars facing the silent world, touched by the dark, claimed by shadow, and embraced by the night.
23 August 2016 ~ 1:03 am