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An empty night

Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.

((Posted by Scarlet Jaggernov on June 24, 2010))

I sat with my legs curled beneath me on the sofa by the fire, a book held absently in my right hand, watching the armchair positioned on the other side of the fireplace with a feeling of sheer desperation. How long would it be until that seat was filled again? The aching loneliness that was an ever-present house guest filled the room with its wicked, quiet presence, touching me gently, and worming its way into my injured heart.

I gave a quiet sigh at the sound of raucous singing from the street, followed by the sound of a gunshot, but could not rouse myself from my despair to investigate. Soon I heard the stern voice of the Captain, forcing the sounds of the drunken joyous rabble out of my empty home.

Closing the book with a snap, I stretched my legs out and rested my head on the armrest, watching the flames flicker feebly in the dim room. How long would it be before those flames were finally extinguished, snuffed out by the damp darkness I felt closing in from all sides? How long can a person endure such emptiness before they turn in desperation to that which they long for?

After all that has happened in my life, the hardships and the trials and tribulations, I cling to any scrap of happiness I find, sheltering it against myself until my own idiocy and fear forces it away, pushing me back into the deep, silent void which seems to have finally established itself as my home.

Footsteps clicked smartly past my window, mingling with the sounds of the gentle rain on the windowpanes and the dying fire. I closed my eyes slowly, feeling sleep creep into the corners of my mind, followed by the dreams.

Dreams of beautiful, impossible things, dreams of people who are long lost, and places that I will never tread again.

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