I have no memory of anything pure. When my eyes opened, they were met with the most vivid shades of coal. I would never in a million years have thought that black could come in such lovely hues. Mine being the darkest.
The moment I woke up I felt what was assumed to be fear. And I despised it. But I could not help but feel the panic flood my veins and chill my marrow. Where was I? Why was I alone? Why were my surroundings so void of light?
Bringing my face inches off of the ground with a shake of my head, I found myself at the bottom of a cavernous abyss. One hand comfortably positioned under my temple, the other lying lightly on my side. To any bystander it would have seemed as if I had fallen into this crack in the earth and decided to rest my head. A slab of sedimentary rock my pillow, rubble and the dust from millennials past my blanket. This bed would be the only one I would know, or remember, for centuries to come. But was it a home?
My thoughts were interrupted by a light that came in from what I could only guess was the entrance to my hobbit hole. The rays from what I had assumed to be stars began dancing before my eyes. And as the gossamer particles twirled in their own strange, cosmic mambo, I felt my fear ebb away. The sensation of such sudden peace created a euphoria that I desperately wanted, the light gave comfort to my hidden frame yet seemed to chase away the shadows. I could not have said why the shadows ran from such a comforting embrace. I reached out to catch the light, let it swim between my fingers, and dance on my palm. Where it went I felt my skin tingle and numb slightly, but oddly enough it felt familiar, like a dream from long ago. I wanted to always be in this light, the luminescence of it giving me the strength to quell the hysteria that threatened to cloud my vision.
But as soon as the glow from above me came forth, it disappeared, replaced once more by creeping shadows and formidable shapes in the darkness. The calm that had washed over me seconds before was conquered by my utter need to bathe in the light from whatever cast it. Anything to bring peace of mind and a beacon to the depths of my mind.
I gripped either side of the hole and leveled myself with a hesitation that comes to any prey wary of predators in the night. And looking down I came to the realization that what clothes I had come down with had been stripped of me. Clinging to my pallid frame I hid my shame behind false modesty, knowing full well that no on would care if I was clothed or not. I brought my hand to my mouth, desperate not to give up hope, but as I bit down a queer thing happened. Iron and copper surged through my mouth, intoxicating my taste buds and drowning my senses out. I became mad in my thirst, licking my finger where I had bitten down on it, intent on tasting every molecule that swam in my veins. It gave me strength, with every drop that I consumed my senses sharpened and my fear fled me. It tasted dark, like obsidian, if that can be an accurate description, but with a chalky precipitate that seemed to linger on my tongue. If I did not know any better I would have said my blood tasted like black sand.
As the blood began to congeal I looked down at the wound I had absentmindedly conflicted on my own flesh. And wondered, Did I do that to myself? How? With a new found curiosity, I cautiously prodded my mouth with fingers unharmed. I found what most would expect to find when exploring a mouth; teeth, gums, a tongue. Though perhaps not every being has the slanted razor quality to their teeth that I do with mine. Each tooth, every molar and bicuspid, was filed to a peak, each lusting for blood and the soft cracking of soft flesh.
Out of anguish I cradled my head in my hands, and shut my eyes to the world. I wanted to know what I was and why I deserved to be in this accursed hole in the ground. I wanted to know what evil I had done, and how I could repent for it. But more than anything I wanted, no craved, that light again! In my mind I pictured a robe of charcoal silk, its material a replica of the ray. I imagined it, a high collar, flowing sleeves that trailed, and a train that would be my constant shadow. In the darkness of my dream the robe engulfed me and for a moment I felt as if I were truly encased in that glow. Just as I lost myself on the folds of my preconceived fantasy robe, I heard an acute scrapping. The shrill grating of stone over stone berated me, and caused me more psychical discomfort than pain. As I searched my meager fissure for the cause of such a ruckus, I was greeted by millions upon millions of microscopic dust mites gravitating towards me from the walls and floor. I scrambled backwards, my panic reaching a frenzied state. But the dust did not hurt me, I found. I turned my head away from the black mass of soot pivoting around me and barred my eyes to the sight. Then they landed on me. Seemingly gentle, I relaxed, the tension oozing out of me as I recognized the shape the dust was conforming to. They were creating my robe, these powders I would have mistaken for shadows in crevices were coming to me as if I had called them. As if I was their Master.
Who am I that these dun and archaic grains came to me beck and call?