There is lightning in the distance. The darkness has risen from the depths of the horizon. Emptiness has seeped through the cracks of oblivion and brought the cold with it. I shutter, I whimper at the thought of an endless abyss as I stare into the eyes of a ravaged spirit. It hungers for souls, hungers for eternities. It hungers for life that it was not given. It yearns to take from me that which was kept from it. Plunged into the night, left in the cold, without remorse, in solitude. I beg for the night to end, only to have it remain around me like some prison that will never parole me.

The lightning comes closer. The darkness persists. I'm cast away like some old dingy doll from a life so long removed that its name is no longer present. The shore that once was within sight of my location has expanded and the abyss has consumed the landscape before me. I yearn for a time where my soul rallied at fear, rallied at danger. Now, it cowers at my side, no longer of me, but by me. The presense of oblivion has left my senses distorted from reality. I no longer feel what I've felt, nor feel what I feel. I am an empty shell, a broken pot sherd from an ancient world. I am catergorized as some example, remininsce, proof that life was present in this reality.

The lightning is among me, surrounding me in claps of thunder and flashing light. It reminds me of my life. It was a blur to be, a longing to be free, a yearning for flesh and bone, a desire for the carress of the light. In my dreams, I searched for the night, to have the quiet of nothingness, but in the end, it was a means to an end. In finding the night, the abyss, I found the light, the conciliation of a world without emptiness.