Darkness

• Ainsley Southern, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2020

Deep in the night, Ebony lay in her bed. In the dead of night, vivid images raced through her mind. He came. To the orphanage he strode. One lone figure. Ebony looked out her bottom floor window. Her eyes strayed to a park down a dark, murky street. Footprints lay fresh in the snow. A man stood at the end of the thick prints. Her eyes met his, and a connection arose.

The tall trees glinted. A layer of ice had covered the pine needles and leaves that stretched to enormous heights. A sliver of light, that cast a ghostly shadow on all of the surrounding foliage, came from a glowing blue moon. It shone a dark light on a narrow stone bench, that could only have been crafted by the hands of a master. It was gilded with gold and silver. The colours lined the bench, entwined together. Altogether, it looked like the most expensive object one could ever buy. The surface was slippery and wet, courtesy of the thick snow that slowly melted, then refroze on the surface of the stone bench. The thick bramble bushes had vanished under the immense pressure of the layers of sleet that was closing in on all things, suffocating and hiding everything. A sharp strike of lightning illuminated the dark alleyways of surrounding streets and buildings, hurling shadows all around. The world was, and stayed, eerily silent all the while.

Ebony silently rose from the hard bed she had been perched upon, and changed into thicker snow gear, for it was a freezing night. She wore thick tights that went down to her ankles, a dark cerulean blouse and a beige overcoat. She knotted her jet black hair, for which she had been named, and laced on her thick brown knee-high boots. Stealthily, so as not to wake the Matron. she opened her window. The hinges creaked indignantly. Still, she forced it open. Quickly, she swung out of the open window, landing heavily on a hard packed mound of soft snow. As she turned, she saw the person she was looking for.

Standing a few metres away, was a man in a dark pant suit. His russet brown hair wasn’t unkempt, but it looked greasy. His tall, leather bowler hat was coated with snowflakes. It looked as if they had been ground in a mortar and pestle.

“Who are you?” demanded she, looking straight at his face.
“I am but what you sorely miss,” he smiled.
“You mean you are my father?” she asked, starting to quiver. Tears slowly formed behind their lids.
“Yes,” he replied. “I am here to take you to my world.”

But, in this man's mind, one thought goes through his head;

I can be hidden,
Or I can keep you hidden.
I can fill up all space,
Or none at all.
My presence can be known,
Or not at all.
What am I?

I am darkness.

For he’s merely this, morphed into the shape of a man.