First, there was darkness, and that was all that I knew. I could feel it, smell it, breathe it into my lungs, feel it bind to my blood like oxygen. The darkness was life-giving and life-thieving. Though my heart beat, I felt frozen in time--and what kind of life is that?
Then, there was darkness and something else. Something was burgeoning from the darkest shadows, born from the life-giving elements that I breathed. It started small and grew until it began to condense the darkness, to squish it, to press it back. I had to blink my eyes. Time was moving. I finally found the word for it: light.
I could feel the light, could smell it, breathe it into my lungs--but I coughed. Coughed again. My eyes stung. Where the darkness was forgiving, was like oxygen to my body, this light was stealing the oxygen away from me. It was piercing and horrid and hot, so hot.
My skin curled away from the light, and the darkness tried to protect me. It covered my skin with a crisp black suit. I became the darkness, fused with the darkness. I burned.
At last, there was darkness, and that was all that I knew.
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