Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge? Are you open to sharing your dark side? Then read on.
Do you have a dark side?
Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so, join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.
Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday
Share your dark side?
I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.
dark | side | thursday | four
Or she thought she saw.
The key felt alive in her fingers, vibrating.
His eyes. Those sparkling blue eyes. The eyes that made her melt, want him, need him, ache. There. Those eyes that took her. Made her. They had gone. The light at least had dimmed.
And, in that moment, those eyes grew dark, twisted, shifting. And, empty.
Her breath would not come. The hand holding the key cramped and pain shot up her arm. Cold tendrils of fear spread from the very centre of her. That empty place deep inside her. That place that would always be empty. Not that she knew that then. Oh no, then, even at that moment, she wanted, hoped, needed.
She dropped the key.
And, from the corner of her eye.
He paused for a moment. Writing had once seemed so easy to him. Now it had become a bitter fight. He had to tell their story. His time was short. He knew that. His fingers ached and fought back. Again the cold seeped into his veins, his bones, his mind.
His eye strayed to that box.
He closed his eyes and, for a brief moment her emptiness spilled into his mind. Or what was left of it.
He stood. The rain pounded against the glass, the sky ripped by cold fire.
He turned. Reached for the bottle. Poured a little into the glass. He closed his eyes, tipped the harsh clear liquid down his throat and rasped those words again, “na zdraví”.
He remembered. All of it.
And he knew he had little time.
He touched the box. Felt it vibrate a little. Closed his eyes. And, in the darkness, swirling, pulsating, he saw it. Not for the first time.
The day he had found the box he had gone there to learn. Walking among the dead. He had not imagined just how much he would learn, and how important that learning would become.
Turning back to the bottle, he took another shot, felt the burning liquid flare deep inside him. Sat down, picked up the pen. Laid it aside. He could not concentrate. He wanted to press the button again and release the key.
From the corner of her eye.
And then it had passed. The shooting pain faded. She breathed in. The cold empty feeling deep in her belly remained, twisting and cramping.
His eyes were blue again. She ached. He bent down towards her, and as he did so, reached for the key, picked it up and held it out to her. She took it. He moved closer, her lips found his.
He knew he could not open the box this night. He stood, walked to the door, looked back, paused, opened the door and walked out into the cold dark hall. The door closed behind him.
And, in that room, the box waited.
It knew he would return.
Knew he would press the button, slide his fingers inside.
The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.
four | fiftytwo