All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone.
He was alone in the darkness once more, but the darkness became brighter and brighter until it was burning like the sun.
Stories are in one way or another mirrors. We use them to explain to ourselves how the world works or how it doesn’t work. Like mirrors stories prepare us for the day to come. They distract us from the things in darkness.
I'm just going to stay here, in the darkness under the arch. I can hear you all out there, trip-trapping, trip-trapping over my bridge. Oh yes, I can hear you. But I'm not coming out.
There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.
My people, we stay indoors. We have keyboards. We have darkness. It's quiet.
People populate the darkness; with ghosts, with gods, with electrons, with tales.