Black

When you awaken to a cold world, it seems as though your life was a dream. That's what it was: a dream. I must tell myself this because that past, that magical time, is now forever lost. I can only survive if I remind myself, 'This is what life really is, not some fairytale.' In this world, there are no happy endings. There is nothing worth living for. All life is, is misery and despair.

It makes you cold to awaken in a grim world, and to discover that all happiness has been depleted. You can't help it. From the first breath you take of the polluted air, you are forever poisoned, forever tainted with the sins of others. There is no going back. Your heart becomes soulless and cold, and your eyes icier than before; you can't even bear to look at yourself in the mirror, let alone anyone else. It makes you wonder, 'Why wasn't I killed?'

First, it was panic, then shock, then grief. I have revisited all of these emotions through my broken memories so many times that it has become a routine. No longer am I the only one going through the phases, but the rest of the world as well. I have blocked it all out, and I no longer wish to hear their misery. I can only feel mine as it washes over me with its cold touch.

A whimper and a cry is all that can keep me company tonight, for the memories that have long since passed are missing. I cannot find them within their black holes. No light or beacon of help is sent for me. I am lost within my own darkness. The darkness was created by another, but I am yet the one to walk its length. Darkness is never-ending and so is this Hell. In the dark you can find no way out, and no signs of hope. There is no light to guide you back to the warmth, and even if it there was, it would only be fire, ready to burn you alive.

The shadows within these walls stand yet on the edge. They would only have to stretch their hands out but a little, yet they taunt me with this one secret hope, for their hands are empty and dead. They offer no joy, but only malice. Knowing that I only have a thread of life left, they pass me by. To be forgotten in a hole dug by someone else was bad, but to be forgotten even by the darkness that is settling around me is far worse than before.

Stuck in darkness for so long, I can only become the dark. Then and only then can I escape the cold fingers of death. To change into something else than what was placed in this captivity is the only option I possess. But even if I escape, I can only go so far before the Light catches me and banishes me back to the depths of Darkness, back into the shadows from whence I came.

I can see the sun, but she cannot see me. I stay hidden and forgotten within my walls of imprisonment. I have been captured, both physically and mentally. I am stuck within the darkness. I am swallowed by despair. I am only fed with hatred and anger, while all others are slowly drained from the bleak fragments of my mind. They always find even the smallest piece of me that I try to keep hidden, though I can't stop but ask, 'Didn't they know? Didn't they know that I would not do such a thing?' But in the echoing darkness, my words will never reach the surface to greet the awakening sun. People view this world as black and white, but I know better. Many things are grey, but pass as white. Except for me: I will always be black. People refuse to see the grey, especially when they take away their light. Without the light, I will always be black.