Pitch Black

Pitch Black

A Story by PeterCurson

Assignment for my writing course


Tears flooded his eyes. They would have blurred his vision except he could not see. It was pitch black. He was encased in complete darkness. All he wanted was to get out but he couldn’t move. For what seemed like hours, he was immobilized, snared in a trap, imprisoned.

Confusion engulfed his mind. Why? What had he done to deserve this torture? Was this a punishment? All the questions he had were sent out into the void of his mind but no answers ever came back. It would seem that this impenetrable shadow swallowed not only his thoughts and prayers, but it began to gnaw at his hope.

Light began to fade from his memory. Would he ever see the light again, or feel the sun’s warm caress on his skin? Oh, what he would give to be in the light, feel the sun, smell the fresh air, and get away, far, far away, from this dank, noxious cell which smelled as he imagined a dragon’s stomach would. The fetid odour infiltrated his nostrils like a virus and latched onto his tongue like a parasite making him nauseous.

But then he heard something, something somewhere beyond the veil of darkness. At first he thought he heard whispers, soft and subtle voices, which indeed they were, but he soon realized the voices were snickering. They were close. Yet, he knew calling for help was futile; this was not the first time he was engulfed in this very darkness, nor the first time he heard the snickering. All of his focus was trained on the voices, trying to catch any phrases he could, a word, a name. Then, an unbearably loud, high pitched sound reverberated through his ears like the Seven Trumpets of Revelation. The excessively loud noise lasted only a few seconds longer until it ceased entirely, leaving a rush of softer noise in its place. Footsteps.

The quick pattering passed left and right. They, too, were so near, somewhere just beyond the darkness. His eyes darted left and right trying to follow the unseen footsteps. Did anyone even know he was there? This was his only chance for escape, his only chance to see the light once more. If he did not act quickly, the people would soon pass and he would be trapped in the shadow forever, never to see the light again.

“Help!” He shouted as loud as he could. Though he could barely move, he managed to stomp his feet and pound his fists. All of a sudden, the voices arose once more, this time louder as if his cries for help evoked it.  Now, the voices did not snicker. They jeered. Cruel laughter he heard going on and on which sparked a deep and profound sorrow from within him. But his sorrow soon turned to fright when an ungodly rumbling erupted like an earthquake directed solely at him. Then came banging and pounding like artillery fire. The laughter turned into shouting. Mischievous and malicious shouting. It was horrifying. The darkness closed in around him. It was so heavy. It suffocated him. The darkness was so thick it even seemed to shut out the noise and stop the rumbling. Wait. It had stopped. Everything was still.

A sharp metallic snap cut through the silence followed by the rattling of metal and then a warm, piercing light threw back the darkness like stage curtains, blinding him. When he reopened his eyes he saw a man in coveralls with a pair of bolt cutters. He could see a crowd of kids gathered around him holding back their laughter. With a sigh, he stepped out of the locker.

© 2016 PeterCurson

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Added on March 17, 2016
Last Updated on March 17, 2016
Tags: short story, postcard story, fiction, pitch black, peter curson



Coquitlam, BC, Canada

I'm an author, craftsman, and adventurer. I've self-published one novel and am currently working through my second. My main focus is in high-fantasy for both teen and mature readers. more..