Alexander was the darkness. He was born in the dark and gloom, his first breath covered in the dreary light of the hospital room. His cry echoed in the silence of the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in nobody's ears. The doctors had gone to the next room to discuss payment, believing he had not survived, filing it under the long lists of stillbirths. His mother, passed out on a solid table, had no knowledge of the birth of her son.
She wouldn't acknowledge him in his later life, either. Each word scribbled on used fast food napkins would just be seen as nonsense to his mother. Words with meaning thrown in the alleyway, for the rats to forage through. Each perfectly articulate sentence flowing through Alexander's mind would be known to him as irrelevant information. His talent would not provide his family enough money. This thought was drilled into his mind, every day he lived his life, every day the darkness blanketed his mind, every day he was a shadow.
His sentences soon began to fade. The thoughts that seemed to bring any color to his life slipped through his hands. The shadow had won. The darkness of his house, of the alleyway became a normal thing. The flickering street lights became the only light in his dreary life. the comfort of being alone was the only thing he had left. The comfort of emptiness, of gloom, of what death might feel like if he wasn't already living like he was dead.
Alexander was the darkness.
