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Description
What does it feel like? When Fate hits you so hard it throws you to the floor? When you are sodden and bleeding, already battered within an inch of your happiness and Fate delivers the finally punch.

Falling. Falling into Darkness. Into the endless vaccum of Sorrow.

It hurts. When you finally hit the ground. The impact knocks the breath clean from your lungs.

You lie bleeding and depressed. You haven’t bothered to move, even though you becoming cold. Your eyes are staring into the blackness. They can’t adjust. The darkness is so absolute, that not even the brightest torch could illuminate the way. Your clothes are tattered and dirty. You won’t wash them. Not even a thousand washes could get the horrible, stabbing pain leave you.

You heart. You feel it beat. You count the beats. A rhythm of life. You stop breathing. You heart quickens. You find it slightly amusing to torment it. If you held in long enough, you heart would give out. You heart beats are erratic. The dizziness is disorientating. You let out the dead air and suck in some oxygen. Your heart calms and falls back into its normal beat.

Your finger twitches. You don’t care. You bones are numb. You heart is numb. Your soul is bleeding. Gashes in your soul let the darkness seep in. Anchoring you down. Helping you sink.

Black, you think. Black, cold and solitude. It’s not that bad. You can’t hear the erratic sounds of life anymore. No more stress, no more anger. Just….nothing. It’s like you’re dead, except you’re not.

You feel the cold start to irritate your wounds. You shift. The searing pain that had one numb returns. The impact of your fall had reopened them. You curse in irritating, cursing Life, and Fate and all forces in Heaven, Earth and hell which have failed you.

You pause. A voice. You are confused. A voice? In here? But it’s coming from outside.

The great gates of the vaccum open, a slither of light shining through. The light looks peculiar. It’s darkish, a rich colour, like a musky red. A silhouette standing at the entrance. A beckoning hand gestures for you to come forward.

You don’t move from where you lie on the floor. What’s the point? Why waste energy and fall back in later? You shake your head and try to ignore them.

The figure stands near the edge and is about to jump down. You tell them no. no one wants to be down here, you say. Just leave me be.

The figure refuses. Refuse to be beaten, it says. You chuckle darkly. Beaten? Refuse? You were beaten long ago. You’ll get knocked back in again every time you try. No point.

The figure crosses its arms. Sometimes you have to be strong for the sake of others, it says quietly. You mull it over. Perhaps. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.

How will you ever prove to the world that you won’t let Fate beat you, it asks. You don’t care. You ignore it.

You like solitude, don’t you, it says, you like the clam dark and the peace. You nod.

It’s peaceful here, it says, gesturing outside. There is calm dusk on the horizon for eternity, and it rains every other day to wash the blood away. There are plants here, that grow only in the half-light, that have healing properties. It is a loner’s haven.

You chuckle. No such place, you say. There is the vaccum and the blasted light.

The figure shakes its head. I have been here everyday of my life. I retired from Light a long time ago. And if I should occasionally slip on the slime of depression, then I have a shorter distance to travel to me home. My haven.

You sit up. The half-light is cool on your face, but it has warmth to it. it calms the stinging of your wounds, and stills the bleeding.

You stand. You stumble over. The figure bends and sticks out an arm. You grasp its and the figure heaves you up.

You breathe in the fresh hair, musky and scented with pleasant fumes of dusk. There is indeed dusk on the horizon. The land looks shadowy but enough light to see everything.

What do you call this place, you ask, it isn’t Light or Dark.

The figure smiles a knowing smile. You’re right, it says, it is neither Light nor Dark. It is Twilight.

Description
What does it feel like? When Fate hits you so hard it throws you to the floor? When you are sodden and bleeding, already battered within an inch of your happiness and Fate delivers the finally punch.

Falling. Falling into Darkness. Into the endless vaccum of Sorrow.

It hurts. When you finally hit the ground. The impact knocks the breath clean from your lungs.

You lie bleeding and depressed. You haven’t bothered to move, even though you becoming cold. Your eyes are staring into the blackness. They can’t adjust. The darkness is so absolute, that not even the brightest torch could illuminate the way. Your clothes are tattered and dirty. You won’t wash them. Not even a thousand washes could get the horrible, stabbing pain leave you.

You heart. You feel it beat. You count the beats. A rhythm of life. You stop breathing. You heart quickens. You find it slightly amusing to torment it. If you held in long enough, you heart would give out. You heart beats are erratic. The dizziness is disorientating. You let out the dead air and suck in some oxygen. Your heart calms and falls back into its normal beat.

Your finger twitches. You don’t care. You bones are numb. You heart is numb. Your soul is bleeding. Gashes in your soul let the darkness seep in. Anchoring you down. Helping you sink.

Black, you think. Black, cold and solitude. It’s not that bad. You can’t hear the erratic sounds of life anymore. No more stress, no more anger. Just….nothing. It’s like you’re dead, except you’re not.

You feel the cold start to irritate your wounds. You shift. The searing pain that had one numb returns. The impact of your fall had reopened them. You curse in irritating, cursing Life, and Fate and all forces in Heaven, Earth and hell which have failed you.

You pause. A voice. You are confused. A voice? In here? But it’s coming from outside.

The great gates of the vaccum open, a slither of light shining through. The light looks peculiar. It’s darkish, a rich colour, like a musky red. A silhouette standing at the entrance. A beckoning hand gestures for you to come forward.

You don’t move from where you lie on the floor. What’s the point? Why waste energy and fall back in later? You shake your head and try to ignore them.

The figure stands near the edge and is about to jump down. You tell them no. no one wants to be down here, you say. Just leave me be.

The figure refuses. Refuse to be beaten, it says. You chuckle darkly. Beaten? Refuse? You were beaten long ago. You’ll get knocked back in again every time you try. No point.

The figure crosses its arms. Sometimes you have to be strong for the sake of others, it says quietly. You mull it over. Perhaps. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.

How will you ever prove to the world that you won’t let Fate beat you, it asks. You don’t care. You ignore it.

You like solitude, don’t you, it says, you like the clam dark and the peace. You nod.

It’s peaceful here, it says, gesturing outside. There is calm dusk on the horizon for eternity, and it rains every other day to wash the blood away. There are plants here, that grow only in the half-light, that have healing properties. It is a loner’s haven.

You chuckle. No such place, you say. There is the vaccum and the blasted light.

The figure shakes its head. I have been here everyday of my life. I retired from Light a long time ago. And if I should occasionally slip on the slime of depression, then I have a shorter distance to travel to me home. My haven.

You sit up. The half-light is cool on your face, but it has warmth to it. it calms the stinging of your wounds, and stills the bleeding.

You stand. You stumble over. The figure bends and sticks out an arm. You grasp its and the figure heaves you up.

You breathe in the fresh hair, musky and scented with pleasant fumes of dusk. There is indeed dusk on the horizon. The land looks shadowy but enough light to see everything.

What do you call this place, you ask, it isn’t Light or Dark.

The figure smiles a knowing smile. You’re right, it says, it is neither Light nor Dark. It is Twilight.