It was dark yesterday. Maybe that’s something to be expected on a Saturday in the city. The sun wasn’t shining. It was past midnight when you went out for the round.
But listen to me, please. It was dark.
They were dead.
There was no life.
I have read somewhere that darkness is just a lack of light, so I turned around and looked for light.
Made eye-contact with the security guard outside the bar.
He raised his eyebrows at me.
I shook my head.
I kept on walking, drunken laughter behind me.
“I don’t miss it”, I thought, I turned up the volume to my headphones.
Rounded a corner, past a couple of teenagers. Made sure I didn’t made eye-contact with them, too. I don’t want to know of their liveliness, or lack thereof.
Passed by an empty police car outside the station. It was ready to go, but empty. Ready to save people. Maybe there had been a robbery. Maybe someone had been hurt. Maybe someone had been too angry. Maybe someone was dead. But I can guarantee you they wouldn’t take care of the dead eyes just round the corner.
Ready to save people.
But not quite.
I shook my head. Said Jesus a couple of times because that’s all I was getting out.
Across the street was a church.
So I stopped, looked at it.
My grandfather tells me it’s lovely there, the best one yet. Lovely lights, lovely preacher, lovely people who will sit by your table when you drink your coffee. Who am I to argue with a seventy year old man who has gone to church his whole life?
But why is it so dark?
Darkness is just a lack of light.
I shouted it, but quietly. In my head. There are certain things you don’t shout past midnight, now a Sunday. This I’ve been told.
Where are you?
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing, Mom.”
“What are you writing?”
“I – I don’t know.”