Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Darkness

The man sat in his cell, broken and hurt. He sat in the middle of the small space that had been his home for so long. His knees were tucked against his chest and he rocked back an forth, eyes closed tightly.
“I don’t know.” He said, shaking his head violently. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Over and over, he repeated the words. They were the only words he knew how to say anymore, for he had been locked up in his cell for so long.

“I don’t know.” He said again, panic entering his voice. Burying his head in his arms, he started to cry, softly.

When the morning light started to enter the small window of his cell, the man scooted across the round to the darkest corner he could find. It was too bright, the sun was too bright.

Sitting with his legs crossed, he faced the corner, watching with terror as the rays of light slowly reached for him.

“I don’t know.” He said, his voice shaky.

Reaching for a rock resting a few feet away, the man turned back to the corner and began to scrape away at the stone wall of his cell.

When he was done he looked at the word he had carved onto the wall. Darkness.

Glancing over his shoulder he saw the oncoming light and every fiber of his being screamed for it to stop.

Stop coming towards me! He thought.

But it wouldn’t stop coming. It always came, every day. And every day the panic rose in his chest, suffocating him.

“I don’t know.” He muttered sadly. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

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