Moonlight Sonata

•10 - Black•

Black: of the very darkest colour owing to the absence of or complete absorption of light; the opposite of white.

•He•

It was completely involuntary, and something which had never happened before. Never before had my fingers fumbled this way, and I was well and truly surprised.

"Why did you stop?" She asked, but I had no reply.

I couldn't explain what had just happened, it was like a sudden black patch on my colourfully quilted mind. It was like a stormy night's gale, until it grew calm. It was like crystallizing snow, until it suddenly became warm. It was like a hurricane on a mountaintop,  until it became still. It was like a hot, sunny, morn, overtaken by a chill. The blackness wrapped up the delicate notes of music that were so clear in my head. They had been ever-present, so physical I could've almost touched them. 

And just like that, they were gone.

My fingers started to grow cold, and my legs shook just a little. But I was anxious alright; terrified in fact, to realize what all was to follow. It was my duty, I had always believed, to be the torch to Her dark night. And yet, here I was, already flickering like a faulty bulb, ready to go out any time. It had started to happen, I knew - the inevitable that all beings like us were prepared for since the very beginning. But now that it was finally here, I knew I wasn't ready for a single thing.

"Come here," came Her gentle voice, and for the first time at the sound of it, I shivered.

I remained where I was, until She came over Herself. She sat down beside me, and gently took my hands.

"It's started to happen," I told her, and She knew I was scared.

She gave my hands a little squeeze and with a tiny smile, said, "It is your turn now, I've had mine."

"It was easier for you," I said. "You had me by your side."

"And where do you think I am now?" She cried out. "Have you too gone blind?"

"That wasn't what I meant," I said, hasty to make my words clear.

She abruptly let go of my hand, and stood up, turning away. "No," She said. "What you meant was that I had you to rely on. But you can't rely on me. You can't, because my perspective is not accurate, as you like to put it. And you fear you'll end up like me one day, living inside your head, in a dream world of your own; visiting secret gardens, and spilling blood on mysterious strangers. And you're scared. Not of the garden, or the stranger, but of you. You're scared of your thoughts if you let them wander too far, of the devious little being dormant inside your head. You're scared you'll meddle with crows, forgetting that they are supposed to be feared. You're scared you'll listen to flowers talk, and not like what you hear. But let me tell you this, my dear, my thoughts hold reality too, of that, I am sure. For you cannot dream of something, you haven't ever seen before."

"Forgive me," I cried. "I did not mean to offend you so. But tell me this, aren't you afraid, too? Aren't you afraid to lose me, to lose the only light you have? Aren't you afraid of leaving everything behind, and having to start all over?"

Her reply was soft, but clear enough to be heard. Bowing Her head, and clutching the hem of Her dress, She said, "Oh, I'm terrified."

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