Light Returns: Forevermore

Light Returns: Forevermore

A Prologue

It started off gradually at first, a match gleaming through the never ending darkness in which we call home. Then the flame grew, engulfing all of the terrors that stood before it moments ago. All of the nightcrawlers turned to ash, one by one, as fast as they had appeared when the lights went out. Here in our never ending dusk, most generations knew nothing more than the things that lived in our darkness. They had never seen any more than a glimmer of light that began at our matches, and ended in a dim halo only inches from their origin. 

Origin.

The elders told stories of such times when the dim halo of light engulfed the entire city, where the darkness was replaced by only the brightest glow. A time when the light source was so strong, that us earthlings couldn’t send anything into space without having to stand by and watch it burst into flames. Slowly, disintegrating before our eyes. 

Scientists kept records of the sun's diameter over time. Year after year, the big mass we used as our primary light source grew larger, and larger. They feared that the sun would one day explode, taking the planets in our solar system with it and leaving nothing but disintegrated ash.

Mercy. 

The people cringed at the idea of one day bursting into flames, but it intrigued me. I wondered what our burning flesh would smell like, or if we’d even be conscious enough to get a whiff. I wondered how long it would hurt, or how long it would take to become numb to the pain. Would some of us be close enough to die instantly and be put out of our misery? I was stupid to believe the sun would be so bountiful in granting us this mercy.

Death. 

The planet was already dying. It started off with a whirlwind of natural disasters. From hurricanes and tornadoes, to earthquakes and wildfires, our population was diminishing. Those who died prior were luckier than the survivors.

The droughts that followed were worse than any dust bowl our planet had ever seen. Families were starving, children were thirsty. 

Then winter followed. Suddenly, we were depleting all of our natural resources, with fossil fuels being first to go. After this, we relied heavily on solar energy, but eventually even that wasn’t enough.

When the sun died, so did all hope of us escaping this dying planet. 

Then the murders started. Those struggling crept through the night, breaking into mansions and slitting the throats of the wealthier families that remained, never forgetting to ransack their cupboards. Although we still had light, I consider this evil to be when the true darkness began.

Darkness.

It was only when everything went black that even this darkness met its match. We called them the nightcrawlers.

Nobody knows where they came from, only that they seemed to appear just as quickly as the darkness came. The crawlers could smell fear from a mile away, no one living long enough to catch a glimpse of one in our halos. The rest of us only knew they existed because of the shrieks left behind by others. 

So we hid. We hid the best we could in a world where we couldn’t see. Those of us who survived long enough to become in tune with our senses relied mainly on our ears for guidance. That was the one downfall of the night crawlers, you could always hear them coming. They made noises like no other creature we had ever encountered. A deep, guttural slush-like pitch summoned up from the hollow pits of their abdomens. This was our only warning.

Until there was light.

Light.

It started as a faint glimmer in the distance. As the light became more vibrant, colors began distinguishing themselves from one another. Colors I could scarcely remember. Pastel pinks, sea glass blues, and lemon-ey yellows swirled together into a spindly like horizon. As the colors changed, the big yellow hemisphere located in the middle of the cotton candy skies remained the same. Vibrant, strong, with the same confidence as its former. 

Rebirth.

I could sense it in my heart, growing with each heartbeat. The warmth was contagious, spreading throughout my temple, all the way to my extremities. Fingers, toes, and head suddenly ablaze with warmth. 

Fire.

I could feel it more literally now, rays of sunshine stinging my now rosy cheeks, tanning my exposed skin. I could feel the corners of my mouth stiffly rising, a crescent moon, a smile. Unable to recall the last time these zygomatic muscles were used for any dramatic facial expressions, I welcomed this warmth wholeheartedly.

A weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I no longer felt the pain that accompanied each breath in darkness or the hands that so often enclosed my throat, leaving little to no room for an exchange of carbon dioxide and oxygen in my windpipe. The never-ending pressure that closed in on my diaphragm was no longer second nature.

I took a moment to appreciate each breath and thanked my body for giving me the strength to make it to this moment. 

Hope. 

I hoped to see the flowers grow again. I missed the plushness of pink chrysanthemums and the boldness of tall yellow sunflowers as they stood in crowded rows. Trying my hardest to remember the things I appreciated most about this world, I closed my eyes and imagined a field with freshly trimmed green grasses, dandelions invading in patches. I remembered what it was like to pull at one's stem, uncovering it from the soil and introducing it to the wind. Watching its seeds breakoff and becoming one with the breeze, reaching new destinations where it would repeat its lifecycle.

I remembered what it was like to sit under the sun and listen to the sound of the ocean on a calm summer day, always sitting close enough to the water's edge for my toes to become submerged with the remnants of the most recent wave. I remembered the tingling sensation that was left in my toes every time the water retracted, taking bits of me back into the deep blue sea, permanently. 

Forevermore. 

Although there was light again, I felt forever changed. The survivors would live the rest of their lives in fear of what was and what could so easily be again.

Purpose.

I knew I’d spend the rest of my life searching for answers. This isn’t over. My story isn’t over.

My story isn’t over.

My story isn’t over.

My story isn’t over….