And there I am in the middle of darkness. My eyes hurt in trying to find anything; aimlessly reaching, feeling, almost hallucinating for an evidence of matter. This can be two things, I say. Darkness. Or a death of sight.
Not too faraway, a fuzzy, warm, pinhole streak of light glimmers. I reaffirm my vision. But I wonder where I am. In the middle of a moonless, starless wasteland? In the crumbly edge of a towering cliff? Nevertheless, my pupils, then apprehensively dilated like that of the feline kind, partially constrict at the presence of the now apparent engulfing light. At last, enlightenment; an escape from all this confusion. I can see where I am.
I am standing weakly in the middle of the district. Around are people I see yapping, caught up with the daily rigors of existing; every soul as usual. It leaves me oblivious: it seems that they have not seen the darkness. A thought. What irony to see darkness? Eyes open only to catch the absolute absence of light, tries to grasp the blank and null – in a perpetually peripheral perspective. Everything and nothing is around. In three sixty.
Then suddenly, after ten whole minutes of taking joy at the glorious gift of sight, blotches of darkness start to eat it all up. I panic. Every minute element of my tired being panics. I try to rush; to etch, in an incorrigible slate, each image the darkness is starting to gobble. It is frustrating to see everything slowly dissolve into a unit of none. Now, it is coming after me, and I resist inwardly to be back in the black hole it is slowly being.
And it goes back to pinhole. I keep chasing desperately, hovering tiredly after; running out of breath, like it is consuming the oxygen, or my lungs just could not keep up. Then pitch black. A bomb of velvet black. Shrapnels of biting nothingness. Utter. Complete. Painful darkness.
I am back where I began.
In this darkness I see everything and nothing.