Scared of the Dark

It’s 2:40 in the morning. The best time to write about my fears. And of course, my fear is heightened by the silence of the entire building and how the lights periodically go off. Stupid motion sensors. I flail my arms in hysteria after being engulfed by the dark. The lounge itself is bright but the window shades are drawn up, revealing a silhouette of the large tree outside brushing against the window as if it were striving for the light.

I keep spacing out. Maybe because I’m tired. But my eyes continually glance over the dull concrete walls and find themselves looking through the window. My focus has alternated between seeing the tree and then seeing the reflection of the room in the glass, eventually merging both as if the whole room were transposed onto the dark canvas outside. And there I am in the windowpane, staring at myself stare at myself. I’m getting paranoid of moving with the thought of my reflection deviating from my own gestures. The lights go out and I move just enough for them to come back on again.

There’s something strange about the dark. But that’s because you can’t see anything more than six inches away from you. Lights go on and everything’s clear. It’s just the space behind you that goes perpetually unseen. Ask me to name one of my fears and there it is. Being by myself and imagining what all could be going on with my back turned. I lean onto the back of my chair, reassuring myself there isn’t anything or anyone behind me. As a cold chill suddenly causes me to shudder, I wonder if maybe someone else is in the room. Dismissing the thought, I throw on a sweatshirt to go to sleep. Till the sunlight comes out to illuminate the day, I’ll shield my blind eyes with my eyelids.