It Was Dark at Night

Oleh: lightsfromwithin

It was dark at night, and every creature was fast asleep. The sound of
dripping water from the leaking faucet into the sink. The annoying
clock just wouldn't stop its ticking, as if it were mocking me all
along. I was awake. Or rather, my consciousness just woke me up; a
part of me that I've always tried to deny. The only remaining sanity
within this traumatized, stiff, corpse-like body. The lucid light of
the moon were slowly consumed by the darkness that lingered in my
room.

It was dark at night, and I was all alone.

Pardon the lame description, I could never do it right, no matter how
many times I've tried. I could feel the cold sweat covering my face,
my body, and my trembling hands. My breathing was not in the best
condition, and my eyes were moving so rapidly since there was less and
less light to be seen. It was covering me; the darkness.

It was dark at night, and I just remembered something. The sound of
clashing steels. The distinct smell of blood. The cadaver and formalin
used on it. The cold dead bodies, hampering the ground with its
lifeless state. I remembered that I cried that night. The very night
when all freedom was taken away, when this trauma of mine began.

It was dark at night. The crickets stopped its lullaby. The sound of
the wind suddenly stopped breezing. And slowly, I could feel the chill
running up my spines.
Yes, it has always been the loneliness at night that brings back my
old trauma. Heck, I don;t even understand the concept of trauma
itself! One thing for sure, though. If this is really what you call a
'trauma', physically OR psychologically, I would definitely hate it.
Just as I hate littering on the ground. Just as I hate being alone in the dark.

For maybe, my trauma began with the darkness of the night.

'Death' might never be pronounced right by me. It took away my dearest
parents. Some scoundrels from the neighboring street were playing too
far with those imitation sword. Or, what I thought was an imitation
sword. It actually sliced some flesh alright, it even snatched away
the precious lives of my parents. And it also took away one of my
eyes. How could I not be grateful?

Sarcastic? Ramblings? Yes, indeed. This is just a rambling from
someone who has been traumatized with the smell of blood, clashing
steels, and the darkness of the night.
Dear readers, do you not believe my story? Do you consider me silly?
Precocious and having a tongue too sharp to say words? Do you read
through those chunks of paragraphs above? Do you think you have wasted
several minutes of your life for reading those sentences?

Well then, my NOBLE readers. Remember this; my trauma begins in the
distant past. And yours, begins after reading THIS STORY.

It was dark at night,...and fill in the blanks with your own story