Segment 4 Cont.

Darkness surrounds us. Behind every wet nook and every doused little man is the breeding grounds of something not normal. Something I describe as the vast empty waters reaching out far and wide touching every coast once, twice, three times a day. Darkness has encased our mindless zombified corpses and now we wait to be flushed out and away.

With much haste a natural purging element surges across the land we tread intending to fulfill it's intended design. We as the unlucky, we as the unfaithful and blind must oblige our murky monster. We must fall. We must be crushed. We must die.


My head ran a million scenarios all simultaneously over and over and over and over again. A perpetual loop of unforgiving cold and calculated nature. Before long I could feel my feet swell, sweat, and otherwise bend beneath me before floating alongside me as my brain cruised further and further down the drain.


Darkness has a name.


A slip here, a discarded shoe there. Three of us ran with intense speed, jostling for first, second, and "Shit I survived" places respectively.

I imagine the world sitting down to watch with us as the scuffling tide behind slowly grew and grew in speed. They cheer and pout with effective passionate praise. I slowed just enough to remember the worlds dead and buried beneath the ash and discarded physicality that blew periodically with the gusting wind above.

"We've never gonna make it Jerry!"

I hear a cry. A whimper. A whine.

"We can't do it!"

A beg. A lie. A con.

"There's no exit!"

A notion. A question. An answer.

"There!" I point to the only remaining light that presently emitted beneath the earths surface.


The darkness cries out in pain. It's melancholy grumble sizzles as our lives very very slowly crawl back to life.


A thought hits me as Walsh takes the ladder first. His puppet dangles behind us as I watch the faint brittle illumination swallow the short man alive beneath a coat of black tar.

The darkness has eaten but is not content. My mind rattles off the numbers equivalent to the degree of starvation before the dark sludge reaches it's long steady hand out for me next.

Four fingers and a thumb tug on my collar, lifting me farther, higher, a distance away from the danger.

"We're not safe yet Jerry"

I hear the man in my ear whistle to a tune. The light that guided us - the one that saved us - is run by it's own variation of electricity.

A fixture set by the hands of man to eliminate the darkness. This one here did just that and long enough so that we may watch it's valiant swan song come to a conclusion.


Once again we are encased in darkness.


My mouth is dry, feet are wet and all I could think to ask was :

"Where's the god damn moon at".