There was no hope, no love, not a single glimpse of a brighter future. Even the stars had faded, tired of watching a world that had fallen into darkness and despair. Its inhabitants, zombies at the best, walking corpses dwelling into hopelessness, flying the feeble light of a moon that had took reign after the sun fled. No hope, no magical song to relight that spark so long gone, no light to warm the hearts that had long ceased to beat, no gentle touch or whisper to bring tears in those dead eyes, nothing but darkness and despair…

Pain. All was pain and sorrow. No joys, no laughs, no tears either. Only the void of a life that had ceased to be. The black cloak of loneliness, the cold grey of depression, the bright red of bloodshed. Nothing good, only bad, just a restless sting in a flesh too old to hope and too young to despair. The bright blue of an eye deprives of its sparkle, the shining gold of hair stripped of its softness. Stains in a world of darkness, mistakes in a tern drawing, disturbances in the cold air. And suddenly, a sound, piercing cry for help, for love, for light…

A discordant note in a rigid tune, a flaw in an organized hell, an abnormality in a dark scheme. And yet again it happened, the same plea, the same despair, echoing restlessly on the walls of shadows. Again and again did that cry pierced the air multiplying itself and filling the silence. No! It seemed to tell. No! Not everything is lost. No! We have not been erased. No! We have not all disappeared.

Lonely at first, answering to itself it went on and on, determined not to surrender, finding courage in its despair, bravery in its loneliness, strength in the nothingness it had to lose. Repeated then, same plea for help, for love, for light… Different voices, same message, different pains, same loneliness. Bouncing into each other at first, discordant and chaotic. Slowly uniting, harmonious and fluid.

A song. A song of hope, of courage, of strength. A song to make the sun return and the darkness recede. The ultimate battle of a lost  war, the jolts of agony of the vanquished. A hopeless song for the sun cannot hear it, for the shadows can ignore it, for the pain can be sharper. A useless song perhaps, a desperate attempt not to lose the soul and heart of our world, a last spark spoiled. Or not…

[Originally written in 2011]


About Celyn

Heavy dreamer, lover of stories, obsessive gamer, voracious reader, music addict, and worshipper of the color black. I ramble, I rant, I overthink things, I dream out loud, I swear, I overuse smilies and abuse ellipses. You have been warned...
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