Dancing with the Dark

A little creepy flash fiction piece for you to try in the dark.

I enjoy sitting in a pitch-black room, my eyes wide open, darting back and forth in search of light. I stare, unblinking, into the mouth of the void. I raise my hand and wave, but I see nothing. Oh, but wait. Was that a shadow? I think I do see my hand, or maybe it’s just my imagination. It doesn’t matter, it’s reassuring all the same that I can still see even in the absence of light.

But it does get me thinking… The other senses lie too. When I focus on my fingertips, I feel the air tremble against my skin. Smells cling to my nose, the way yesterday’s meal still lingers in the air. In dead silence, I hear a high pitch screaming in my ears. And, as always, the taste of saliva sits in my mouth. Today it tastes metallic and tangy.

Strange though, emotions and feelings don’t echo the same way. In the absence of love, you don’t feel love. You don’t even pretend to feel it. Instead something darker caresses you tenderly, whether that be hatred, loneliness, or even nothing at all. My favorite is the absence of such heavy emotions. Such a freeing concept, to feel nothing at all. The darkness keeps me whole in this blinding world. Which is why I enjoy sitting in the dark, waving a hand in front of my face.

But there is always a price, a caveat, as with most things. Still, I keep dancing with the dark, and now the scent of our bargain hangs between us.

I inhale deeply. The smell of burnt hair and meat sears my nostrils, and I smile. Even rot leaves something to sense.