by David Olshaski

Created on: February 28, 2009

The clock struck it's melodically tone at the half hour, a dead tone, just like the time it was, not a full, not before nor the coming of, only a part of the whole. I sat watching the night from my bed, the very bed that he had bought for me. The room that had been the result of my need. It was my need the pushed him to face me. Against the wall I could see the world of light challenging the night, forever at odds to the world that collided with it. The night bore peaceful silence at the cost of delusions of popular culture and fear. I could handle the nightmares now, the fear of someone slinking into my bedroom at night to suck the blood from me no long terrified me into an unreasoning panic that froze me into the small comfort of my bed and covers. Those were of little consequence to the real fear of the light, the smell of old malt, the sounds of my origins fading into and oblique version of some tortured old movie.

Again the clock stuck, this time the sounds were battered against a bell that had been tortured and ruined by the hand of he who must feel pride. Eleven times did the muted clang of the bell attempt to bring knowledge in service of those that dwell of the light. Again the light shimmered against the wall, confronting the night, pushing it ever so slowly and receding just as quickly. Roaring flames of the troll king flared its wicked love past my room again, testing my resolve and fear. Echo's of a voice struck the walls of my sanctuary. The lord of all he surveyed announce yet again his supremacy against the subjects to which he commanded. Ever more shall his reign tighten against the world that was outside his control, ever more shall he expand to engulf those not able to withstand the power he controls over all. Voices of his subjects choked back their fear as he commanded again and again the volumes of his words of wisdom. Truth lay beneath his tattered crown of royalty. Truth and honesty hid in the darkness with me awaiting the light to shatter the world.

Again the clock struck but a single moment of echoing dead pain, and it was gone. Grief in the thought of its bitter response to the time that was lost yet again. Temperance and remorse now fell quickly to the forest call. Still the light raged outside the room, its anger sated slightly, the timber of the troll king slowing to the passage of time and fire. The night was winning again, its slow constant march unyielding and patient, forging a path of silence against the enemy.

Again the clock

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