Darkness Is the Lack of All Light

An ancient tale of a young boy's tragedy that led to a creation of a people. The placement of this tale is uncertain. It could be tomorrow, or 15,000 years ago...

Darkness is the lack of all light. This is a fact that every child is taught in school. At a school where there is always light always power always people. When they leave school these children are driven in cars or busses or maybe they walk; under the power of the machine or the light of the sun. When they arrive home they go inside to find electric lights ready to bring light to the whole house if need be. In their house these children may have machines that do other things. Possibly a dishwasher or computer, most likely a T.V. Even without being on or functioning they drain power from the house through the walls. If the children stopped they could hear the noises of machines running. It is a hum that usually goes unnoticed. 

The children say they know what silence is, but they only know the hum that fills the silence. The hum and the light have always worked together to create the world the children know. If one is removed the other is usually there. Like darkness silence is something both pure and terrible. Together they usher fear into the hearts of the children. I never knew true darkness until the day I lost my parents. They had a lantern with them and had gone out to check on the meal we were cooking for dinner. My sister had been at the edge of the spit and had been turning the chicken my father had caught while hunting.  Tabitha had been quiet for a long time and my parents had started to seriously worry for her. That morning she had said her first word in three days and once she started the river of words that had once been so natural quickly reasserted itself. She had been singing when my dad and mom went out with a platter, heating pads, and tongs.

The Pink hot pad caught my eye and so I put down my book and went over to the window to watch my father at work. The chicken once off the spit glistened beautifully as my father began to slice it thinly. With a conspiratorial glance around my father cut off a piece just for my mother. She gave his unshaven face a kiss and savored the meat with slow bights. By then my mouth was watering and my face was pressed with impatience against the glass. Lifting the platter my mother began to make her way through the long grass of the lawn as my father added some more dried alder to the fire. It crackled merrily and its dances and movements reminded me of my sister who so wanted to be a ballerina. All three of them had tried to tell her gently that there was no longer any such thing as a ballerina, but she would have none of it. Once she had been forced to do her chores she would dance and twirl on the deck for hours.

As I opened the door to the porch to let my mother in I heard a shriek of pain that riveted me instantly. In the moment of panic to reach the noise my mother dropped the platter which banged to the floor spinning off the gleaming dish. The juices that had so drawn me earlier dripped slowly through the slats of the deck as father with his poker and mother with her pot holder still in hand raced to the side of the house with me not far behind. At first I was not sure what I was seeing but all too soon logic worked through my shocked brain. Tabitha lay curled into a tight ball a dark crimson stream staining her pink too-too. With a shriek mother fell to her knees pressing the hot pad against the wound. Tabitha was crying but silently. Father had his shirt off and was rapping it around her, and that too was soon stained. With an effort that only showed on his lined face father lifted Tabitha and began to run towards the house mother right beside him. He shouted back over his shoulder to me and so I ran to the garage as commanded.

I used the hidakey to slip in through the side door and quickly had the big garage door open. Diving into the driver’s seat of the suburban I turned the key and roared the car to life. Just as I was heading back into the side yard the large vehicle died with a sputtering cough.  Vaulting back to the driver’s seat I scanned the dash. The gas level was down to zero. The little yellow lever seemed to taunt me with its finger pointing towards the E. In a fit of frustration I slammed my fists down on the wheel. The car did not even quiver under the blow it stood implacable and unmoving.  Inspired by a last possibility I ran around the front of the suburban and over to the red plastic gas tanks. One by one I lifted them up with the ease of a child. Empty. Scared and uncertain I ran back around the side of the house.

I had hoped to find my father but he was no longer there. To my horror not his calm and set features met me but a plume of black smoke that reached to the heavens. Fire blazed across the deck and my family was nowhere to be seen. Backtracking I went through the garage and back into the dark house. Where lights had once shined now only empty sockets remained and so I had to feel my way down the darkness of the hall. As I approached the kitchen I could hear the crackle of the fire and so I did not hear the men’s voices until I was full around the corner. I saw them first and saw the bodies on the floor; crimson pools staining the Persian rug. With a shout I turned and ran, tears running down my face. My father’s eyes had been open blank things staring out no longer seeing. It was not till later that I felt them as accusing eyes.

Behind me I could hear them coming, one even fired a wild shot down the hall that fortunately missed. Slamming the garage door I looked around for somewhere to hide, somewhere to hide. Before long the door burst open and gunfire sprayed the garage. I could not hear much from my hiding spot, but I heard there sharp cursing as they searched for another couple minutes, overturning our storage crates with a crash. They fired on the suburban for a while, but gave up after I did not come out or make a sound. I could hear one man over the voices of the other. He talked like his mouth was full but despite this I could tell that he was bossing around the others. One of the bones of the chicken must have caught in his throat because he coughed for a long time calling for help. I didn’t hear any of the others respond. For a long time they worked on dad’s gun safe, but failed to get it open. In the end they left it on its side.

By then I could smell smoke in the garage. In silent terror I waited in darkness for long minutes to be sure they were gone. When I could not stand it any longer I burst from my spot into the smoke poisoned air. The metal door of the gun safe moved with ease from the inside and I was quickly out of it and into the garage. Once in the yard I forgot the men and stood with eyes wide gazing transfixed at the blaze that had been my home. I tried once to enter and grabbed the nob of my front door not realizing in my shock the sheer heat that was radiating from it. I burned myself and jumped back a scream breaking from my lips. But the adrenalin shooting through me wouldn’t let me focus on the pain for long. I had to get into my house and save my family.

I tried to grab the metal knocker as a hand hold. The cast iron eagle that had adorned our door for years burned its visage into my palm so quickly that I did not feel it until the door was open. With a whoosh I was blown off of my front deck and into my yard. I’m not sure how long I lay there crying, but the sun had set by the time I could shed tears no more. Looking down at my hand I found the reversed eagle staring back at me enlarged and twisted. In my other I found I was clutching an unstrung bow that had been my fathers. I must have taken it out of the safe, but to this day I do not remember doing so. In the ashes I found nothing that reminded me of my family. In the yard by the remains of our wood pile I found the pink potholder. Only then it was crimson.

Now, later, I sit in the darkness and speak these words to you my son who is my legacy. Now the children know that darkness is the lack of all light, and the true sound of silence.

 

-Preserved and translated by the Librarian Hilfred Grasderm

45 years after the Fall of the Hammer Lords

 

“Believed to be an inscription of the time of New Men passed down from son to son in the northern tribes. Discovered by Coumbasa in his Last Riding to the North Lands of which little is known.”- Grasderm Lib.

Author's Note

An older story of mine, but I still believe it has merit. Tear it to shreds!