Chrome

Dusk dispatched messages for those who liked to linger in the wild calamitous shores of the Night every time it reached a transition point. And though there were only few–they never opened those messages. For they knew already what Dusk would have to say, they feared what Dusk had to say–and they were tormented.

Sometimes they stayed back and did not cross over to the night. They became ghosts. Sometimes they climbed the broken walls and would glance at the Night. They could not decipher its mysteries and its depth. But neither could Night decipher their longing for the Dusk. So sometimes they would hang back and stay over, within the Dusk–the silent stillness which marred it with its pink, orange and lavender skies and the dead clouds which were as formless as ever. It was then that they would become free.

Dusk would leave messages for those who liked to stay back. But they would not open or read  them–they felt betrayed. How could they not! For they could stare at the Dusk for hours and become immersed within it, becoming one with its slits, with its dismal glory, with its sorrow, its longing and its clouds which were as formless as ever–and Dusk would not stare back.

For it was Dusk–the cross over, the transition, the orifice of the day and night–it could not stay forever. For it was an episode in the grand theater–and it wasn’t final and it wasn’t anything. For it could not linger on around the empty shores of the people and it could not stare at the hollow, slowly turning pages of them–it could not stay back and listen to the silent music of their souls. Dusk was not free. Dusk was not a ghost.

And so–it would dispatch letters and messages which no one would read. And one time during a moment of transition–a passing wind blew one of the messages towards the Man who would stay back every time–staring at the immensity of the coming night, shuddering–with his eyes fixated towards the Sky which was asking questions he did not have the answers to. And the spell was broken momentarily, and he glanced at the letter and a lament of pain escaped him. And that was the last he was seen–on the shores, for he crept silently into the dark abyss of Night, never to be seen again–leaving the Sky broken and alone–as it suddenly took the shape of a question never to change back into the blue vastness.