The Grip of Darkness

The object of his desires slips right through his slender fingertips like a raindrop falling through air. He cannot bear to lose this again. He tries to reach out and latch on once more, but his agility betrays him; his grip tightens on nothing but the air through which his mark is falling. Rage boils up and a spark of red ignites within the complete darkness of his world.

//

The white light brightens, growing larger each moment to encapsulate the entirety of his vision, then vanishes. A pale darkness, not the all encompassing kind that comes so rarely but rather the everyday kind that lets in just enough color to make you sure that you are, welcomes him back to the life that has come to suddenly feel so unsteady and insecure. He already knows that each day is a gift but lately it has felt as though some force beyond that which he sees is out to get him. One near death experience is to be expected, but three all within a week feels far too planned to be a coincidence. Even still, he is just happy to breathe.

//

So Death must wait his turn.