Darkness - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Not quite the hot dark of embers, but a soft, hopeful dark. The dark that comes just before the sunrise, a kind of dark that helps the orange and gold blossom across the sky, like a small flower trembling open in spring. The dark that encourages you to fall asleep as you close your eyes, tossing and turning in a futile attempt to slip away into the depths of unconsciousness, blissfully unaware. The type of dark that occurs in a complete solar eclipse, blocking out the light, the noise, the feeling of being, leaving you in the silence of serenity, if only for a few seconds.
When the world has become a pencil drawing, a masterpiece on the easel of the creator, I await for it to fade to black and arise anew. It is as if the nightfall were the curtains closing, and the dawn were their opening each day, the birds singing on cue with their beautiful serenade. While others sleep through the dying of the light, my task is to remain awake and witness its rebirth, to see how the pencil sketch becomes the greatest of high definition movies. As the blackness comes I calmly watch myself be erased, eyes open and seeing nothing at all, the only evidence of my being is the steady thump of my heart and the cool air in my lungs.
Darkness comes as strong protective arms, holding us close until the promised dawn. Within it we are as children once more, safe in shields of duvet. Yet in this place so open to the skies, resting in the cricket's lullaby, our eyes are as bright as the constellations above; our stardust atoms seeking the stars until they can bathe in the light of the sun.
People say the darkness “presses in,” it doesn't. The darkness kisses up to your skin closer than a mother and whispers excitement into your ears. The darkness is your best friend, it's funny and glib, flattering and cool. The darkness will be your favourite thing right up until your exits are blocked, then it has no reason to hide. If it was easy to spot darkness there wouldn't be a problem, how often are you confused with day and night? But I can tell you now, if you don't understand your own emotions and motivations I can't help you. You are a character, this is your story, now what do you want? What do you fear? Know that and you can unlock your own cage and step into the light.
I've seen darkness before, the kind that makes our street like an old fashioned photograph, everything a shade of grey. This isn't like that. This is the darkness that robs you of your best sense and replaces it with a paralysing fear. In this darkness I sit, muscles cramped and unable to move. I only know my eyes are still there because I can feel myself blink, still instinctively moisturizing the organs I have no current use for. I can't hear anything either. I guess that should bring my heart rate down below the level of “rabbit in a snare” but it doesn't. By my genes I am a predator, I have the front facing eyes and brain enough to hunt, but I feel like prey in this utter black. The dawn is many hours away and until that precious time I can only wait. Moving makes noise, it's bad enough I still have to breath. But I want to see tomorrow enough to make me hold this position for as long as it takes. Not making it means not being there for Sharla and that is something I would never willingly do. Abandoning isn't my thing.
As a child I used to wake in the night and wish for the sun. The darkness worried me, my imagination supplied many beasts with fantastical jaws to lurk beyond the range of my vision. But now I embrace it. The night provides cover from the flesh and blood monsters of the day, the ones with their guns and official badges, the ones who can be judge, jury and executioner in the name of freedom. Even on the most moonlit of nights I blend into the city shadows, staying clear of those pools of yellow light that flow from the street-lamps. The neon and white lights that used to flood from the bars and restaurants are extinguished. The only reason to venture out at night is to join the game, the game where everyone looses and the only prize is knowing you fought.
The lack of light that had bothered us so much at first just became normal. The world was etched in charcoal, the once vibrant hues of the plants were no more than a vivid dream. It had been three weeks to the day that the super volcano had erupted and the blanket of blackness that obliterated the sun had not faded or thinned. Day and night just blended into one another and all the time we shivered. We coughed and spat up black phlegm, the spring plants were loosing their foliage and every water source was contaminated.
There was a time when sunlight bathed the surface of this planet. Rays touching everything at one time or another, boundless, almost endless energy travelling even to the smallest regions of this fragile Earth. What a rich and contrasting world we had lived in. Mother Nature had strength then, the progression of life seemed unstoppable. An old photograph captures a boat at sea, light dancing majestically over the surface of the water, it must have been taken years before the dark days eventually took over. Darkness has taken its stranglehold, squeezing life and consuming our memories, turning them into forgotten lost dreams.
At first the darkness of the room must have deceived him, or else his eyes were confused and dazzled by the recent glare of the reading lamp. For a minute or two he could make out nothing at all but dark lumps of furniture, the mass of the chest of drawers by the wall, and the white patch where his bath stood in the centre of the floor.
Darkness is a strange substance, like ice it has three states solid, liquid, and gas, but with a twist. Since it is a sort of mystical material, it doesn't fall under the laws of science, only able to change states by the user. In solid form its almost completely black aside from a very tiny shade of red at its centre, like a candle in the dark, when a non-user touches it its like getting winded, if hit by a sharp point it will penetrate and quickly infect. As a liquid its thick; sticky, and has a pungent smell of ink, it can act like quicksand or just plain coat and suffocate people. As a gas its quite strange it is able to pass through solid material with ease, suffocate, and eat away like acid. As a whole Darkness is an odd thing.
Brad dropped the match, and again they were buried in darkness which seemed to oppress them like an awful weight.
In the darkness the whole world could have blown away in a freak storm. I can smell the earth as if it's wiped clean, as if all the plant life is gone. My feet are bare, that's the only reason I know the ground is still there. Everything else has dissolved like it was never there at all, like the universe hasn't even begun, or perhaps it never was. In the darkness I can't get a sense that anything is important at all – life, death, pain. I want the dawn to come and kiss the land and remind this fickle heart that I'm not the only one here - that there is a whole planet of other sentient beings who live and love. But for now all I have is this starless sky, even the moon won't shine tonight. Perhaps she lies frightened, shivering, behind the unseen cloud.
His shoulders barely sunk below the level of the ground before the sun was blotted out and he felt himself being sucked into a darkness so total that he couldn't be sure he had eyes.
Found in Alex Rider, Stormbreaker, authored by .
It surrounded everything. It ate up everything in its path. It did not give us any mercy as it destroyed us.
Katie steps from the old beauty parlour into the street. Only a few years back she would have been bathed in the gentle glow of the street-lamps, now there is only darkness. At first it scared her, but over time it became the new normal. From the end of the street comes a light, a torch perhaps. She stops faster than a bullet into steel, heart pounding. Funny. Once the darkness of the night is complete there is nothing more terrifying than light. She pastes her body to the cold dark wall behind and takes out her gun, removing the safety...
And then there was darkness. Darkness suffocating my body like a damp, musty, thick blanket, clinging to every inch of my pale skin.
One day, science will be perfected. Evolution would have completed. The world will become nothing more than layer upon layer of infrastructures and pollution. One day, darkness will be the only burden we carry. No war, hunger nor poverty. Just the dark thick aroma of a stationary life. A wasted life. Greedy, unfair biased and yet all we could ever ask for. But we still want more. They all do.