One Word

White blinding light, pale azure walls. With shackles in hand, he walks, walks toward the gate. The black gate opens, he enters the light.

But he is not used to the light. It scours his eyes, his mind, his soul. And he finds himself awestruck at the radiance in front of him. He stares. It is the specter of his nightmares, the radiance of his life, the apparition of his torture. With shackles in hand, smoke in his lungs, he stands at this presence, unable to move. All he can do is stare.

What can the man do but stare at his haunting, his madness, his greatest pain. But the ghost stares back, as if biding its time. It is as though it has been waiting for the man, but all he can do is stare. One word, one syllable, its utterance breaks the man's gaze and brings him back to the world. One word, two syllables, the man is able to utter back.

Out of the corner of his eye, the man sees something move. The one responsible for bringing his tormentor into existence, stares at the man. One word, two syllables, the man utters once again. The word destroys the hold that had stopped him at his track, and is now able to move back, back toward the gate. The black and rusty gates seem to shine upon his arrival, and open once again. With shackles in hand, smoke in his lungs, the man once again enters his dark imprisonment.

But he found himself unable to find comfort in this darkness. In all of his life, he was only able to touch the light for a fraction of a moment. This forever scarred him. It turned the shielding shadows, into the agony of his despair. So now all the man could do was live in the twilight, exiled by the light, and forsaken by the dark. And all it took was the utterance of one word, one syllable.