Chapter 15: The darkest hour

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It only takes a moment, standing in the brightest of rooms, with the darkest of thoughts. How could one be so sad under the sun's rays - like a nurturing smile - yet it does nothing in light of ones' shadows. 

The curtains fall to each side of the stage and a white light makes heavy lines appear, with the audience seated, She begins her performance. Gently nudging her lips against the mic as her body and soul work together to produce the sound of a crying angel, like the nightingale, but what reasons could an angel have to cry when it is made solely out of God's light? 

Like this she'd sing until her later years, standing in the light had eventually rung her solemn.

All her life spent, singing prettily on that vixen stage until the light shown no more. It had moved from over her to a younger, easily sellable beauty with the voice of a rejoicing angel. The light, that she worked so tirelessly to have watch over her, was hers no more. Without glory after the fame in sight, she retired. Or rather, the stage she stood proudly upon for years flung her off of its' golden course. 

Finding no comfort elsewhere, she resides in her childhood home. But it, too, slung her under its' memories of a simpler time - a time where her song was heard only by the nightingale, the light breeze of a summers affair and the long grass tilting its' hat to the sun above. It cast her into a perplexed state no one could rebuke her from, and I was there too, in her last moments of sanity. Calling out, the syllables of her name slipping from my tongue like a salivating dog, an endless echo persisted instead. Above all this, protruding from off stage, a dimwitted light made its way through the audience, taking its' place on the steps leading onto the stage where it became half lit, again. 



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