Darkness before Dawn

This is a piece I wrote for an English assignment. It's finished, but I would like to see where I need to improve.



It was night. The darkness hovered everywhere, thicker than the air. Any human eye exposed to it was blinded. You could see nothing but there was nothing was to see. Something moved in the dark, moved with it. It wore it like a cloak. In the night it was faceless. It did not need the light to see. Every thought and memory, emotion and desire was clear to it. They were bonded to the darkness, like tassels woven into a cloth. Reach out, touch one, you touched a person, unravelled them. Snap one you cut their tether to the material world. A single thread stuck out, breaking up the complex web. It would be easy to pull it out and take a soul.

Anyone not at home in the night did not last long. They stood out, the thread of life hanging loose. No one could stop the darkness when it came. They accepted their fate. There was one person, alone, weaker than the rest. A single golden cord. It could end them right then... No. There was no fun in that. A kill without a hunt. The thing that walked in the dark stopped, throwing its cloak to the shadows. It dissolved into the air and vanished. The darkness lifted. Suddenly it felt the light.

A young man was standing on a cobbled road, ranked by an avenue of trees. He had no idea who he was. His eyes began to move, taking in everything around him. The river that started far up in the hills, rushed down their slopes, easing itself into a glistening lake. Viridian forests were everywhere, coating spaces without order. A village was sketched out below, sending noise up to fill his ears. Feeling slowly spread from inside him; every limb was suddenly aware, like he could feel his own blood rushing in his veins. Alive, he wandered down the lane, air feeding into his lungs.

Up on the hill everything was life. In the village, where the people lived, it was different. All worries were laid out to him. He saw a single shred of hate tangle whole lives up in themselves. They were alike in their own hearts but each thought they were different; each their own man. Personalities based on fragile beliefs ready to crumble. Every front was a facade but he could see their hearts. Enchained by a desire for freedom, they were quickly imprisoned. The world was taught as a malleable fantasy but quickly moved to a hard, harsh reality. Everyone important to themselves alone, others were simply obstacles and stepping stones. As they scooped the dirt from the fields, so they scooped the foundation from below themselves. The only reality was humanity and anyone left behind was crushed beneath the ideals and ambitions of others. The ones on top faced a new realisation: no matter how tall they stood and how strong they were, they could never reach the stars.

From the outside he seemed almost human. He was normal enough to fit in but could not be pinned to any profession. He was slim but not lacking in muscle. His light hair not black nor brown. A perfect, unnatural average. He was seen but not recognised. He was registered to the background. He liked it that way.

His emotional state was flawless. He felt every bit of pain but none of it weighed him down. The people's hearts were open to him and they made him sad. They struggled with the ridiculous and he understood their plight but he could not help them. That was not his job. His purpose lit up in his mind where it had lain dormant. His mind refocused, colours became sharper, people's faces clearer as their hearts were dimmed.

He felt the heartbeat far away as it echoed down from a path opposite from where he had begun. Undiluted by trivialities and earthly senses, his whole being focused on the sound. It reverberated within in him, rippling in his essence. Unknowingly, he synchronised to its fading rhythm, as he felt it like nothing else before. New to him, it delighted him, his own heartbeat emphathising with its failing brother. No longer less than human, he became more.

His footsteps led him to a door, which he phased right through. Inside this lonely thatched cottage in the hillside, sat an old man, perfectly content, his grandchildren playing in the field outside the window, his son watching, atop a curving bough of a nearby tree. The man looked right at him. He recognised him and smiled. They said nothing, each knowing this day would come.

The man's heart was as honest as his face. He was of little worth to himself. Each other person meant the world. He had given life his all and everything that was blessed upon him was shared with another. He did not keep worthless treasures and was not worried with pointless thoughts. He had no riches and did not care for words spoken in his honour. By giving his own life up, he had made it the best life he could. His goodness shone inside like a golden cord in the night, ready to be plucked. It would be easy.

His happiness resonated in the room. He was ready. A strangely familiar farming tool caught both their eyes. It was wielded with the utmost skill and could cut the very air itself. They both breathed in and then sighed. The scythe swung towards the old man as he smiled his final smile. His cord broke, his soul was let loose from the world. The body lay in the chair, the final testament to a life.

The heartbeat faded; the job complete. Again, he was at peace. Light shone around him. It looked comfortable. He put it on. He now wore a cloak of light. He was alive.

Death smiled. This was more fun.

 

Nice. Personally, I try not to use the word"You" unless it's dialogue. As they scooped the dirt from the fields, so they scooped the foundation from below themselves. This sentence sounded kind of funny.