There exists a stark difference between the darkness you create and the darkness that steals upon you. One is a refuge, the other a place where fear and memory find you.

“Shh, don’t turn on the light. The little dear is asleep.“

“So? It won’t wake him.“

“I know, but…it’s better this way, if I can’t see him.“

And then the words, meant so endearing but cutting so deep, “Goodnight, my lumpy angel.“

Choking back a sob, Gordo stared through the inky blackness to the closed hatch of his dungeon, as if he could see through the metal, hear through the thick floor above. Everything and nothing could be going on outside this space. Everything and anything could happen inside this space.

His mind raced, and the space, which before was such a haven, now seemed to crowd in upon him. He needed reassurance. He needed guidance. He needed instructions.

But he was cut off, sealed in, pent up…like a rat in a hole. No rat at heart, the lumpy angel took flight from his own dark Hell.