The rustles of raw emotions creeping in your mind stir you. You turn back and take few deep breaths; you realize the clock is giving you a gawky look straight in your face. Its Midnight. You start thinking what all choices you are left with? Brew a coffee? Open that unfinished novella? Browse activities tab? You experience a sinking feeling; you look around with confounded eyes. The room is all dark, so duteous to the rituals of night. It is so dark that you can actually see the darkness, feel it close to your cheeks, infiltrating into your sinuses. You start getting uncomfortable. You start getting algophobic. You can feel your heartbeats, pounding as if targeting to crush your own heart. You stand up and your fingers have already begin to search for that light switch, even before the idea came to your conscious mind. You hum to yourself, consciously trying your best to not to make eye contact with anything but the cold, hard ceramic floor.
You turn on the light. Something evaporates out. You feel relieved to a great extent. As if you were caught with your hands in the cookie jar moments back. You fail yourself by sheer reminiscence of those ghastly moments. You question your courage but quickly retract; you know it pretty well that the night is not meant to be evaluated with ordinary five senses. Acronycal legacy spells words that are beyond common taste or comprehension. You remember the night, weeks back, when you were engaged in deadly combat with the unidentified during the hypnagogic phase; and when you woke up, you were able to feel the susurrate of the unknown, the mighty unknown.
Night is to sleep. Night is to take a leap, if you don’t wish to sleep.
PS: If you have a fear of the darkness or of the night, you probably suffer with lygophobia. That’s what they say in medical journals.
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