Darkness - by Fatima Akbar

Darkness has a world of its own. You’re scared of it because you fear the unknown. You like having control. You like knowing what’s next. You like to anticipate the best, but in the end, we all have to let fate do the rest.

It blinds your sense of seeing, your other senses heighten. You feel everything to an extreme extent then you finally initiate to lighten.

You were trembling and shuddering under this absurd gloominess. And then you find yourself settling to the now-familiar seaminess. But does that not represent what the world is about? Not knowing what is to come after, having no dominance over most situations, submitting to the unknown; to fate.

So won’t it be safe to say that the world represents a kind of darkness of its own? One so dingy and dense that it has penetrated through the skins of most, reaching so far and deep that it has inundated their souls. One way or another, we’re all slaves to our own darknesses, we represent it.

Every individual’s perspective of seeing the darkness that they represent varies. An enormous number of them are content with it, with the way it gives them a sense of belonging, they feel like they’re at home. They seek comfort in it and gain satisfaction knowing that from other people’s views, they’re just a plain black canvas, painted of a thick, muddy black colour, one with so many various layers that it would take an eternity, or more, to scrape the paint off of the canvas, all to discover that it hid more black, more darkness beneath.

Many people wonder why the people who portray this type of darkness are the way they are. What pushed them to a point where they had to put on a facade? One in which they have installed a dense curtain of black, separating themselves from this world? Or at least putting a barrier between themselves, their true selves, and the world. The most usual answer would be, due to their past experiences. These individuals have likely been accidentally moulded into being this way. Life threw its adversities their way and they probably reached out, begged for help, screaming to be pulled out from that bottomless pit that keeps drowning them, into nothingness.

Convulsing with fear, unrhythmic heart palpitations, quivering hands reaching out as far as my hands allow. Beseeching to be held, yearning to have the warmth of someone’s hand pull me out, from this cold, eerie place that I have entrapped myself into.


All my hands managed to grasp was air, thin air. My fingers ended up clenching into fists, nails digging into my own skin. No hand reached out to help, I was left alone in the darkness, in solitary, like the world and everyone in it had abandoned me. My insides were eating me alive, there was no escape, no light at the end of the tunnel. Did all of them lie that it gets better? For I was lost in this darkness and no one came, no one rescued me from myself. I was left to rot all alone. That is when I realised that it is only you that you have in the end.

It made me be the darkness that I once feared, it made me represent it.

These people are immune to it, their darkness has crept into their souls, into their bloodstream. That is the vibe that they give off, that is when you know they represent what they’ve been through, they represent what they now are.

Some may ask, why are they content with being this way? You see, being at home is very commonly associated with being at a place where you live. If you go into the depths of it, you’ll realise that it is rather a feeling. It is somewhere you feel safe.

So maybe some people have made that darkness their home, their safe place. They don’t want their true selves to be discovered. Their past experiences of reaching out for help haunts them, which results in them not opening up to everyone. Maybe that is why they are at peace, knowing that the endless loop of their past won’t have to repeat.

I see that narrow ray of sunshine, coming from afar. But my heart doesn’t beat with hope and light.

The light that someone else brings into my life won’t make me forget the darkness that I have found comfort in. It will illuminate my life for a bit but it can never overshadow something that is very deep-rooted in my veins.

About the author:

Fatima is a 15-year-old from Karachi who finds solace in writing.

Find her on Instagram @fatimaxakbar

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