Light

There are many reasons I like the dark.

I sat, hugging my legs, resting my chin on my knees. The forest wind gently tugging on my body while hurling the leaves around me. My hat, regardless of its color, was a big on my head. But that was okay. It covered whatever parts on my face that the fire in front of me illuminated.

There are many reasons I hate the light.

The fire I built danced however the wind made it. My brown boots were illuminated by its light, they were brown and had dirty white straps. A bug crawled onto the left one, reminding me that I've been sitting still for far too long.

I inched away from the fire so that shadows cover me more than light. There are many things in life I don't want to see. I don't want to see my dirty old boots that are too small on my feet, I don't want to see those hands covered in fresh cuts and bruises, that blood on my shirt, that bloodstained axe, and I certainly don't want any light shedding on my crying, sweaty face.

I always turn off the lights when I cry, ruling out any chances to see it in a reflection in such state, and any chances of someone seeing me that way. I sit in the dark when I cry because the light too can be scary sometimes. I sit in the dark because I don't want to know, I don't want to see. Let all the dim colors in front of me mix and blend. Blend until I can't tell things apart.

There are many reasons I like the light, but many reasons I hate it too. I want to see, I want to know. But what if the truth leaves me wishing I was blind?

Thoughts consumed me completely, they made me forget that i'm in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night. They made me forget why I came here, why I'm hiding, why I'm running away from the truth.

I don't want to know.

I get up frantically and look around for my water. Shaking and sweating, my eyes dart around, body trying to make as little movement as possible. I found the big metal bottle, opened the lid and poured the water onto my fire at once. Now, completely submerged in darkness. Then I hear wolves.

Nightmares chase you weather you're in the darkness or in the light. Nightmares will come to everyone someday, but tonight, I ran. Because I knew the reality was a nightmare.

I left the axe. My heart sank, looking back at the pitch black place I left. I forgot to burry the axe, but it was too dark to be seen anyway, so I keep running and running into the darkness in front of me that was now behind me, on my right, on my left, up, down, inside me, inside my head. Until I tripped on the same axe and fell.

The wolves got closer and closer, my heart drummed against my ribs as I looked all around me. But all around me was the same.

I dove my right hand into my pocket. Matches were there. I pull them out, and put them back inside again. Not wanting to see what lied next to my bloodied axe. There was something there, I knew, but it blended perfectly in the dark the way I liked.

The wolves got closer as I ran out of options. I couldn't see my axe, nor whatever it is that lay next to it, I couldn't see my hands, my legs, my body, I couldn't see the wolves, I couldn't see any nightmares. I should have felt safe the way I always had when I was in darkness. But I didn't.

It's true couldn't see it, but it was there regardless. Running away was useless. Crying was useless. Being scared was useless.

I killed someone.

I took out my match box and thrust a match from it and lit it at once. And all the shadows disappeared. It was there, my shirt, it was there, my axe, and blood was on both of them, even on my hands.

The wolves froze and I looked down at the dead body laying lifelessly next to the axe that ended his life. I let the match light up another fire, a bigger one this time. Illuminating my guilty face. I was angry, I was a fool.

We were workers, chopping down some trees, and the man infuriated me, so I killed him out of anger, I killed him out of rage. I was guilty, and that was scary. But I wasn't going to run. Not anymore.

I let the light show the truth, and let my mouth tell it.