By A.E.Charles
About the author:
A.E.Charles is a student at Chinquapin who is relatively new to the writing scene. She made her writing debut with the short story The House on Palm Street, which premiered in the October 2019 edition of The Burr. She hopes to turn the excerpt above until a full book, which as of right now, is unnamed. This is her second year in The Burr, and she is a senior editor and a senior at Chinquapin.
Dark.
Darkness was the only thing he could see, feel, hear, or smell. There was nothing else except darkness around him from all angles. He was completely consumed by the dark and all he consumed was dark. He didn’t know what day it was or what time it was, and he didn’t know the month or the year. It was just darkness. Darkness all the time. He was almost convinced that darkness was the only thing that existed anymore. But he knew better than that. He knew the darkness wasn’t the only thing that covered the planet. He remembered the trees, with leaves that were an assortment of brilliant greens, which then shifted to the ground effortlessly after changing colors to red, yellow, brown, and sometimes orange. He remembered the soil and the softness of the brown, crumbly material and how it stained your finger with the wonderful smell of growth. But mostly, he remembered the air. The air of the outside that was crisp and clean, and could fill your whole body if you took a deep enough breath, which he took constantly. He loved to bring the air into his nostrils and feel as it seeped into his lungs, bones, veins, muscles, and every other crack and crevice in his body. That’s what he missed the most. The feeling of taking in a breath of fresh, clear air. He missed it so much; sometimes he felt as if he should just stop breathing altogether. It was a frustrating cycle of wanting to be done with everything, while at the same time still keeping hope that he would see something other than darkness again. He wanted so badly to see something other than darkness.
It was excruciatingly mind-numbing sitting against, what he assumed, was a damp wall and a damp floor. He didn’t understand why the walls and floors were damp because he could hear or feel any water or other liquids around him. He had tried to feel his way out a couple of times, but it had never worked, and eventually, he gave up trying to leave. And it’s not that he wanted to stop trying, but he no longer had the strength to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. He had grown weak and fragile, only eating once a day. Or at least he assumed it was once a day. Food just sort of appeared near him and he never knew what it was or where it came from, but he knew it was food. He examined the plate the food came on once. He felt it and determined it was a sturdy, metal plate, with rough, round edges, and the bottom and top of the plate were coarse and hard. He imagined it was a darkish grey color, the same as steel with scratches everywhere on the plate. It seemed like the plate had seen hard times, the same as him. He ate the food, the same as it always was. He couldn’t see it, but he’d been eating the same thing since he woke up in the dark so long ago and guessed he was eating bread. A small loaf cut into halves. Sometimes it was hard, sometimes soft, sometimes stale, and sometimes crumbly. He’d eat it either way, but it was becoming disgusting eating the bread over and over again.
He didn’t know how much longer he could take this torment. He missed outside. He missed fresh air. He missed everything. And he could no longer live with the pain of remembering.” She finished as her son stared up at her. “What happens next, mama?” The young boy asked, curiosity and energy gleaming in his eyes. “You’ll have to wait and find out, Mon Fils.” She replied, standing from the chair she was sitting in. “You need to go to bed now. It’s late, and we have to be up early tomorrow, Mon Gentil Garçon,” She told him, ushering him up from the kneeling position he currently occupied. “Mama, please tell me what happens next?” He whined, pleading with his mother to hear the rest of the story. “No, Noah. Go put your pajamas on, brush your teeth, and go to sleep. Now.” She demanded. Noah knew he wasn’t going to win, so he stood from his sitting position, walked out of the living room, down the hallway to his room, and disappeared through the doorway.