The haunting light

[rewritable]

[font=Book Antiqua]

It was the worst kind of darkness again. Almost pitch-black. Too dark to see any details, too dark to see almost anything. Yet in the same time the light was enough to catch a very vague glimpse of contours of surroundings. Leaving the overworked imagination of a frightened mind to fill in what eyes could not see.

And flashes of light in what most likely was the sky. A moment of light illuminating everything around, yet just a moment too short for an eye to fix anything before the darkness returns.

It may have been a forest. There was the sound of wind rustling through branches. Yes, a forest, almost definitely. Ground was uneven, covered in what most likely were leaves and fallen branches. Except on a path. Feet could feel a part of even ground heading through ghostly contours somewhere.

As he went forth, the shadows around became almost familiar. They still could not be seen or recognized, but mind and imagination now rested, having classed them as trees and bushes.

But this figure in the front was different. Lack of light did not allow seeing what it was, but it definitely was neither a tree nor a bush.

He went on slowly, cursing the darkness that hid the truth. Imagination was running wild again. Yet he knew that he must see it. Somehow.

Flashes in the sky grew more and more frequent. There was a small hope that one of them would be sufficient to keep darkness away for long enough for eye to fix the view. They were now very frequent, and brighter than before. Soon, very soon the light will be enough to see what'€™s hidden.

More and more of them. Now those were not separate flashes, rather a continuous pulsating stream of light. It did not help to see. It was dazzling, hiding the world behind a fog of pure white.

The light became too bright to bear and he closed his eyes. Yet it still grew brighter and brighter, forcing through the closed eyelids. He tried covering eyes with palms, then hiding head in arms, but the light still found a way and kept hurting the eyes. Finally he collapsed to ground from pain and curled up, wishing for nothing else than for the familiar and soothing darkness to return.

Cursed be the light!

[color=#FFFFFF]Bryan Thaler woke up in sweat, curled up in complete mess of a blanket and sheet. Third night in a row that dream haunted him. He rolled on his back and stayed still, staring at ceiling, watching the dance of streams of running lights of passing civilian ships that made it in the room around the closely drawn curtains - traffic on Manhattan never ceases.

Bryan was still awake when alarm clock went off four hours later.

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