Winter Kills

I was a pool of dark. In the daylight, at least, surrounded by huge continents of light. In the night, of course, our roles were reversed, with tiny islands of light in an ocean of dark.

But it is no great feat to drown someone if one is an ocean. It is expected, nay, required. True, they are more cautious, but there is always risk on the ocean. No, it is the pools which have the real triumph. The body drowned there is a mystery, an occasion, a media extravaganza. Investigations proceed apace. The ocean can swallow a thousand bodies without a murmur.

So it was with great pleasure that I relished his last feeble struggles. He would have only had to move a few feet to pull himself up on the shore. But he was too weak. He had swallowed too much darkness. And those in the light averted their eyes from the darkness, not wanting to dip their feet into it. Oh, a few of them dabbled, splashing around a little bit, but they kept their lifelines on, and at the first mouthful they ran back to solid ground.

Excuse me, while I become more interested in the city. What did someone once call it? Standing knee deep in a river, dying of thirst. Their thirst is what kills them, all right. But the line between dark and light is much sharper here than elsewhere, delinated by man-made straight lines. Elsewhere the boundaries are softer, and you may not know you are in the dark until it is too late. But here it is all or nothing.

And now, it is nothing.

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The Den of Ubiquity/ Aaron V. Humphrey /