Darkest Night

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She stands still as the night around her; a marble tower of unwavering assuredness in a sea of despondency and unrest. The moon is full, but its cold glow seems to siphon away portions of one’s humanity bringing an unnatural clarity to one’s stream of thoughts. It’s a dark and hostile place that breeds confusion and despair. Its cursed glow is a veritable entity that destroys all life and love in the heart. Yet despite the darkness of this place, still she stands unmoved and resolute in the hour of blackest night.

The knife is cold to the touch. Its sinister gleam carries with it the promise of death and with death comes peace. Death and peace coincide in everything here. The hollow calls to those who seek the silence of the grave. There is resolution in disappearance. There is solace in nonexistence. She knows this and now seeks comfort.

There is peace in this place. She can sense it. She feels it caress her skin as if it were standing next to her comforting her in her time of greatest need. She loves it, and it loves her. There is an exchange of sorts between them as if they are capable of communication, but in fact they are not. She feels the peace gently indicate the knife. It points as though with a finger though it has none. She takes the knife with the intention to obey, but then she waits.

Her inner self has begun to fight back. She senses her first pangs of regret, her first yearnings for life. It is a strange emotion that overtakes her. She feels the peace of death at her right and the uncomfortable desire for life at her left. The desire to live is flailing and frantically gesturing having realized that the situation is more serious now than it has ever been before, but it was too late for dissuasion. She’s come too far and has dealt with too much to turn back now.

She can see both sides now: the bright and the dark. There is difference and there is indecision, but in the end all there can be is cohesion. Chaos and control come together to form humanity. Neither side can exist without the other. She hears the silent voices of her two halves as they constantly war against one another for dominion over her actions. The harsh brightness of her desire for self preservation cries out with all its might not willing to allow its grasp on life to loosen. The soft and cool darkness of her desire for the peace of the grave speaks calmly with a determination that drowns out the light in her heart. Ever so gingerly the peaceful tug in her heart places its hands around her neck. She feels them there. The smooth sensation of love rolls over her as she realizes that peace is more valuable than life.

Her hands tremble knowing that the time has come. She looks at the flat of the knife and sees her face therein. The reflection shows her a person whom she no longer knows. She sees fear and disgust in the eyes, eyes that have known too much in too little time. She sees tears rolling down the milky white cheeks, and as she notices them they begin to flow more freely. She knows that the person trapped in the knife is already dead and the person who now lives within her is ready to follow. She doesn’t want this to happen, but she knows that she needs it. There is nothing left for her here in the world.

She takes one last glance at her surroundings and allows the tears to fall from her face. She makes no attempt to wipe them away. The quiet loveliness of the glen causes an outstanding self-assurance to well up within her once again. She sees the stillness and she feel as if time itself has died. She touches the knife with the tip of her finger. It is ready and so is she….





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