The Absence of Light
Part 1In my younger days, I refused to believe that “darkness is the absence of light.” In fact, in protest, I even claimed “light is the absence of darkness.” The thing is; I just couldn’t imagine darkness’s identity being dependant on light’s presence. I couldn’t imagine it crouched quietly in some corner, twiddling its thumbs, waiting for light to move over and allow it some room. I now know that the idea of darkness being the absence of light is actually a legitimate one, and has to do with photons or something (sorry, I haven’t gone to school in 2 months). But I still think that our culture is biased towards light and against darkness, and therefore the sparkling and unique beauty of the night is tragically underrated.
I suppose I’m also biased. I love the dark. I’m that kid that never wanted to sleep with the night light on, I’m the only one in my family who can comfortably skip up and down the stairs of our pitch black basement, and I’m not afraid of monsters lurking in the shadows.
Sorry, that was misleading. I am afraid of monsters. I just don’t think that very many of them live in the dark. All the monsters I know walk around freely in the day-light; briefcases swinging from side to side, blowing up other people’s lives with just their signatures. It’s during the day that they carry out their plans and reap their rewards and enjoy their own destructive lives. They only use the dark to rest, rehabilitate, and at the most, plan.
Now, I’m not a Vampire or a fetus or anything. I don’t hate, or even mind this daylight; it’s not like I pace back and forth in the aforementioned basement waiting for the sun to set. It’s just; when I suddenly notice that it has, I feel this unexplainable rush cart-wheeling through my veins. In my experience, it’s only when the curtain of night falls, that the real show begins.
On some nights, I grab my big sister by the hand and we gallop over to the big park near our house to just sit and marvel at the night sky. Sometimes I take a flash light and a book, and read to her. She can’t read back to me, because written words confuse her. She told me that when she reads, they magically rearrange themselves, jump off the page, and basically do anything they can to piss her off.