For months it was dark, the only sounds were the screaming of the wind and roaring of the ocean that used to be distant. Then the sky cleared and filled with a strange luminosity. Silhouettes appeared, stark angles and dead stumps against the light, holding out broken limbs still dripping. Water? Mud? Slime?
“It’s completely silent,” you said.
“No birds,” I replied softly. The broken limbs were empty and I recognised their gesture—imploring.
“And so dark.”
The sky had taken back the light, spread out its colours, safe and high, leaving us all that we deserved—the darkness.