The Dark Country

The Dark Country

A Story by Prodigo

I am to return to the dark country; to the wasteland and the black gate. The horsemen and their steel bridles and their staving children. It is a sullen place where fools are fed while saying foolish things. They will choke and the dark country will not be so dark. I live in the dark country. I live in the dark country. I feed the dark country and their are no crows to scavenge, only wolves. There are many things to fear here but none of those things are man. I am the only man and the only man will fall.


There is wine in the dark country. there is sleep in the dark country but no drunkeness. I am a spiritual drunkard in the dark country. The only sort of drunkard that will not make sick and cannot work. I hide in the notch of the willows and watch the birds feed. There is love in the dark country. and in this darkness, I have found it.


Here in the dark country, their are no thieves. Our thieves only steal dreams in a country full of nightmares. Our nightmares sleep with us  in our sheets. Our sheets have tears and stains like a bloodstricken man in the padded room where he sleeps with a jacket. Here in the dark country, there are homes without food and pets without collars. There are yards without fences and beds with no blankets. In the dark country, the beasts beneath the house are rotted and the maggots live in a darker country. This is the wasteland, this is the dark country.


In the dark country, the b******s are left to die with the flies and the crows. A land with no crows is truly the wasteland and the dark country bears no shadow of its squealing, thundering scavengers. In the dark country, the most vicious of wolves travel in packs. With all their terrible might, they would gobble you up and leave no thing for their imaginary friends, the vultures. In the dark country, everything is imaginary.


In the dark country, no thing is real. In the dark country, only man is real and he does these terrible things and no thing shall challenge man because he is all these terrible things and more and it is sad to see something so terrible. You are left with no thing with something such as man. I am here to tell you the dark country is real. And should you want to visit, simply open your window.


There is smoke rising in the dark country. I did not believe in such a thing before, but it is different now in the dark country. I smell tar and smoke and ashes and dust and dead things. It is foul and it is terrible. No thing shall come against the smoke of the dark country. No thing would ever think can belong.


The dark country freezes wax and here no candle can burn. There is fire but there are no candles and it is sad to see a desk without a candle. It is as if you saw a bird with not wings or a mountain without clouds. It is a vulnerable thing but in the dark country, it is only sad. Everything is no thing and dying in the dark country will only lead you to more darkness.


There is smoke rising in the dark country. Above the blackened ashes smoldering in the hills and the dying embers leaping into the valley. I am a fireman in the dark country but I have not water. I bore hot wax but I, myself, am not sad about this. Wax will dry and I will be only warm. It is okay to watch a forest burn in the dark country. It is only a forest, anyhow.

© 2010 Prodigo

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Added on December 27, 2010
Last Updated on December 27, 2010



Victoria, TX

Bad art is tragically more beautiful than good art because it documents human failure. more..

Jim Jim

A Story by Prodigo