Masquerade
Outside, behind the glass window, the rhythm of the twin headlights swooshing by broke the night into a million pieces. The darkness had tried to swallow the never sleeping city into its abyss but failed as the neon lights and the street lamps gathered together as a bright storm and fought the dusk away, and so, even when the darkness came, the light never disappeared.
But the darkness was still there, hiding behind every street corner, every narrow alley, and every tree. The shadows lurked even though they couldn't be seen.
He knew the hidden law of the darkness. He'd seen the shadows come alive, arching from the warehouses and attacking the light. The ambush of the lightless, he sometimes called it. He saw it, every day, things that normal people ("What do they call normal?") would never see. The heat point of shadows behind the illumination. What most people don't realize is that it is in fact the light that causes the shadows. It's funny really, when you think about it; the one thing that is supposed to protect us from the dark is giving birth to it's own enemy. Then again, that is the way it has always been.
He comforted himself with the fact that he wasn't seeing the worst of it all, he wasn't the one who stood behind the curtain day and night, he merely peeked inside. And still, it managed to shake him. It managed to shake him because he knew that that had once been him.
The shadows hide in the light - it's the masquerade of life.
The dark figure behind the window, looking from inside to outside at the frantic movements of the lights below, stirred and backed away. The blinds closed and left the room in sudden darkness. He let it well for a moment before turning on the small lamp that sat on the table by the living room couch. As the light once again entered the space, he felt pity for himself. He couldn't stand the darkness any more than the others who spent their life ignoring it, denying it. Light was a bad habit, like smoking - once you start, you can never stop.
He let his body sink into the soft couch and turned the television on. He wasn't watching it really, just surfing through the channels, letting the pictures flash by his acknowledgement. He glanced at the clock. An hour to go and it would be time to leave to work.
The TV created pictures on the opposite wall, the wall behind him, but he didn't notice them. Some reality program was on. Some perfectly manicured brunette was complaining how her opponent was being too competitive - obviously forgetting that this was the deal in the first place - and manipulative. She spoke high words of herself and the 'name of the game', creating an image that didn't make her loveable nor intriguing. It just made her sad. As the words and the delicate phrases poured out of her mouth, he couldn't for one second believe that she wasn't phony and scripted. With annoyance he flipped the channel. Then another. And another.
He finally let the channel stay as it was but instead of watching it, he reached out his hand to the phone. Out of memory he dialed the familiar number. It rang three times before somebody picked up and the sound of quiet conversation filled the room. Hi, it's Greg. Is Chrissy awake? ...Oh, I see. ...No, that's fine. No, no... Yes, thank you, that would be good... ... Me? I'm doing fine. How 'bout you? How's your husband?... That's good to hear. ...Yes, um... Why don't you just tell her that I called and I'll call again as soon as I get off work, okay?... No, that's all. ... Hey, Tanya, listen... How is she doing? I mean, have they said anything new? ... Uhu, I see... The other day she was complaining that her leg hurt. How's that now?... Good. That's good. ... Yes, I was thinking about that... When? Well, I was thinking next weekend. Are the visiting hours still the same? ... Oh, well, thank you very much, that is so nice of you. ... Yes, thank you. You take care, Tanya. I'll call in the morning. Bye. The phone clicked as he put it down.
The time rushed by fast as he just sat there with his head in his hands, staring into the shadows that lurked in the corner of his small apartment. With a tired sigh he pushed himself up. Time to put on the mask, time for the lightless to become the light.
It was the mask he wore every day.
And every time it became easier to pull on.
His hand searched the backpack that lay on the floor by the couch, swung it over his shoulder. Fingers reached to grab the car keys from the table. TV turned off with one push of a button. The lamp switched off just as easily and the darkness invaded its space once again. He walked across the room to the door and entered the world beyond its safeness. It's a crazy world out there.
And damn dark.
THE END
Outside, behind the glass window, the rhythm of the twin headlights swooshing by broke the night into a million pieces. The darkness had tried to swallow the never sleeping city into its abyss but failed as the neon lights and the street lamps gathered together as a bright storm and fought the dusk away, and so, even when the darkness came, the light never disappeared.
But the darkness was still there, hiding behind every street corner, every narrow alley, and every tree. The shadows lurked even though they couldn't be seen.
He knew the hidden law of the darkness. He'd seen the shadows come alive, arching from the warehouses and attacking the light. The ambush of the lightless, he sometimes called it. He saw it, every day, things that normal people ("What do they call normal?") would never see. The heat point of shadows behind the illumination. What most people don't realize is that it is in fact the light that causes the shadows. It's funny really, when you think about it; the one thing that is supposed to protect us from the dark is giving birth to it's own enemy. Then again, that is the way it has always been.
He comforted himself with the fact that he wasn't seeing the worst of it all, he wasn't the one who stood behind the curtain day and night, he merely peeked inside. And still, it managed to shake him. It managed to shake him because he knew that that had once been him.
The shadows hide in the light - it's the masquerade of life.
The dark figure behind the window, looking from inside to outside at the frantic movements of the lights below, stirred and backed away. The blinds closed and left the room in sudden darkness. He let it well for a moment before turning on the small lamp that sat on the table by the living room couch. As the light once again entered the space, he felt pity for himself. He couldn't stand the darkness any more than the others who spent their life ignoring it, denying it. Light was a bad habit, like smoking - once you start, you can never stop.
He let his body sink into the soft couch and turned the television on. He wasn't watching it really, just surfing through the channels, letting the pictures flash by his acknowledgement. He glanced at the clock. An hour to go and it would be time to leave to work.
The TV created pictures on the opposite wall, the wall behind him, but he didn't notice them. Some reality program was on. Some perfectly manicured brunette was complaining how her opponent was being too competitive - obviously forgetting that this was the deal in the first place - and manipulative. She spoke high words of herself and the 'name of the game', creating an image that didn't make her loveable nor intriguing. It just made her sad. As the words and the delicate phrases poured out of her mouth, he couldn't for one second believe that she wasn't phony and scripted. With annoyance he flipped the channel. Then another. And another.
He finally let the channel stay as it was but instead of watching it, he reached out his hand to the phone. Out of memory he dialed the familiar number. It rang three times before somebody picked up and the sound of quiet conversation filled the room. Hi, it's Greg. Is Chrissy awake? ...Oh, I see. ...No, that's fine. No, no... Yes, thank you, that would be good... ... Me? I'm doing fine. How 'bout you? How's your husband?... That's good to hear. ...Yes, um... Why don't you just tell her that I called and I'll call again as soon as I get off work, okay?... No, that's all. ... Hey, Tanya, listen... How is she doing? I mean, have they said anything new? ... Uhu, I see... The other day she was complaining that her leg hurt. How's that now?... Good. That's good. ... Yes, I was thinking about that... When? Well, I was thinking next weekend. Are the visiting hours still the same? ... Oh, well, thank you very much, that is so nice of you. ... Yes, thank you. You take care, Tanya. I'll call in the morning. Bye. The phone clicked as he put it down.
The time rushed by fast as he just sat there with his head in his hands, staring into the shadows that lurked in the corner of his small apartment. With a tired sigh he pushed himself up. Time to put on the mask, time for the lightless to become the light.
It was the mask he wore every day.
And every time it became easier to pull on.
His hand searched the backpack that lay on the floor by the couch, swung it over his shoulder. Fingers reached to grab the car keys from the table. TV turned off with one push of a button. The lamp switched off just as easily and the darkness invaded its space once again. He walked across the room to the door and entered the world beyond its safeness. It's a crazy world out there.
And damn dark.
THE END