Beyond Light And Darkness

The Beginning Of Shadows

II

Dear Diary,

Today was like any other day, yet unique in its own subtle ways, as no two days in my life are ever truly alike. The routine, however, remained familiar; we embarked on another adventure, reminiscent of the one I previously recounted to you. Though I relished today's escapade as much as the last, there was an inexplicable difference. It felt as if a small weight, akin to the smallest grain affecting a digital kitchen scale, had settled upon my chest-not heavy or suffocating, but undeniably present.

I couldn't quite discern what I was feeling, but this unease was momentarily overshadowed by the beautiful distractions offered by my friends and nature.

Our adventure concluded differently this time; instead of returning home, we decided to go hunting-not with guns, but with a slingshot, aiming to catch birds for a meal. It may sound inhumane, yet I found it oddly enjoyable. Despite our efforts, luck was not on our side, and we caught nothing. We walked out of the woods and headed back to town.

As we walked, I noticed the strange fellow-the beggar-passing by. Our eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting moment, it seemed as though we recognized each other, even though neither of us acknowledged it openly. I wondered how he could possibly remember me among the countless people he must encounter daily, each interaction lasting mere seconds. Yet, his gaze suggested a semblance of recognition, which felt oddly validating. It was as if a famous person had acknowledged me, a rush of unexpected emotion.

Despite his status as a beggar, there was something about him that hinted at depth and complexity beyond his appearance. I've always believed that people are more than they seem. As we continued walking, the heaviness I felt earlier returned, more pronounced this time. My friends suggested visiting another friend's farm, a place I usually enjoyed. We would eat delicious sunny-side-up eggs prepared by his mother and admire the horses, which were predominantly black or white, save for one strikingly patterned like a zebra.

To my surprise, I found myself declining their invitation. "I want to go home," I said, almost unconsciously. My friends were puzzled, but I reassured them and made my way home alone. My mother, noticing my unusual return, asked if something had happened. I simply told her I wanted to be home, to which she nodded understandingly.

Once in my room, I picked you up, dear Diary, hoping to make sense of my day. Yet, even as I write, clarity eludes me. Perhaps reflection is futile this time. I will eat something now and then rejoin my friends, determined to enjoy life and dismiss this inexplicable heaviness.

Farewell for now. Let us commence the joys of life and the simple pleasures, like the fresh cow milk from Joseph's farm.

Esteemed reader,

I hope I haven't been absent for too long. I share my latest musings with you in the form of a diary, a rare glimpse into my innermost thoughts. You must know, dear ladies and gentlemen, that you hold a cherished place in my heart, and that is why I entrust you with these private reflections. Rarely, if ever, do I reveal my diary to anyone.

When I last visited Joseph's farm, we had a delightful time filled with much merriment. Upon my return home at 10 PM, I went straight to bed, as is my custom, and fell asleep without effort. But that night, something seemed to trouble me. Instead of drifting into sleep, I remained preoccupied by such thoughts that I found myself at a loss as to how to decipher them. Tangled and chaotic, my mind resembled a spider's web not yet organized-where the spider weaves intricate patterns with purpose and precision, my thoughts formed an entangled, disordered lattice. Amidst this mental clutter, one question emerged with fleeting clarity: "why, all of a sudden, did the spider seem to embody a greater articulation and intelligence than I?"