The Dark
It’s foolish to be afraid of the dark.
People quiver in fear because their eyesight isn’t suited for blackness, for nighttime. Foolish, the lot of them. Do they even bother to think about what “dangers” the darkness holds?
Those large, shiny eyes from the bushes are raccoons and cats, watching for food or attention. The scratching on the bedroom window is the branches of the tree; the groaning of the house is the heavy wood settling in the cold or swaying in the wind. Someone leaving a window cracked is not the fault of the darkness, and neither is the scurrying of the rats in the dirty basement her fault.
The darkness tries to help the ungrateful fools anyway. She cloaks the sun so that they can sleep; she cools the raging heat of the earth so that the very ground they walk upon doesn’t burn them. Nighttime provides them with rest and respite, and the dark extends in the winter, when the sun reflects blindingly off the snow.
The dark is elegant and quiet, the calm of the inside of the eyelids and the void of space itself. She enhances tenfold the grace and beauty of the stars; without her, their light is meaningless. She makes way for the spotlight in the concert hall and the theatre, spurring on the performance with her supportive arms. She allows for sneaking fun, for hide-and-seek, for bonfires that glow and fireworks that dazzle.
Sure, some of those childlike figures laughing outside the window at night are real, but people fear them without giving them a chance. Their laughter brings love, humor, good fortune; the spectre that leaves footprints in the flour protects and the wraith that rattles pots and pans is cleaning and purifying and blessing.
People fear what they don’t know. They set up night lights in every room and make flashlights and headlamps to drive away the darkness, to cast her out. She tries to help anyway, because she loves them, those foolish, puny people that reject her so strongly.
It’s not the fault of the darkness that the eyesight of humans is so pathetic. It’s not her fault that they are easily deceived by magic tricks and dancing lights, and it’s not her fault that people are irrationally terrified of anything and everything that they don’t immediately, innately know.
She can only help them, save them, for so long. They flee from their guardian angel and into something far more dangerous. They’re going to regret it, the utter fools, running from her and straight into the true demons. Those bright rays do nothing but blind them to what lurks within, give a false sense of security, dim and cloud their eyes so that one day, with a morbid irony, darkness will be all they know. The dark can only protect so much if she’s turned away, and without her, people are helpless and vulnerable to what lies eagerly in wait.
It’s foolish to be afraid of the dark.
You should be afraid of the light.