Bringer of Light

I was sculpted in marble,

Cherub cheeks and ivory teeth,

Wreath of flowers, trembling leaf,

Placed upon my golden lock,

Like sunshine, bathed on your flock,

And hands so pure and sweet,

Carried light in the morning, creep,

Along those hallowed halls,

Mirrors broken and someone calls:

Firstborn angel, morning Star,

Is this all that you are?

I started to think. This fountain from which I drink,

Is it clear or is it ink?

Can I be content, never making a dent,

Kneeling, living off your cent?

I was born in Heaven’s cage,

Magician, I’ve come of age,

Sycophant’s smile, but I hate these gates,

Burn it down, it’s the will of the fates,

There is no doubt,

I was in, I want out,

Give me a tower, a hut, a wall,

A place of my own, call it home,

But you wouldn’t let me be happy alone. I am

an echo of you, have I forgotten?

What you sacrificed, oh you rotten

child, you’ve blackened my name,

This creature is not mine to claim.

So you made me a nightmare of the night,

Blood and smoke, cursed blight,

If you see it, take care, take flight,

Watch as the horns unfurl from its head,

Eyes that are cold, eyes that are dead,

Villainize, despise, this bastard kin, 

Godly frame, sallow and thin,

Scorched by the flame, enclosed in the earth,

I model my image in my own eye, rebirth,

A blessing in disguise, you cannot tantalize,

I’m buried too deep to be reached by your lies. 

I am free. But I’ve found

All I touch turns to ash. Bound,

To the memory of the garden we grew,

Still, I’d rather be blue,

Than spend eternity in hell with you. 

The light at the end of the tunnel

It was the first day of school after the summer holidays. She woke up, anxious, nauseated and scared. But she still got up, got dressed and got on the bus. And suddenly, the bus had parked. New school. New class. New people. New teachers and new subjects. No familiar faces, just the start of a new school year. 

But even if at this moment everything seemed dark, it wasn't. She knew that tonight, she would get to be with her family and tell them about her new class. She knew that after school, she would be able to call her friends and ask about their first day. She knew that after class, she would be able to do some sports and distract herself. 

The first few days were only a tunnel that she had to cross. And on the other side of the tunnel lay a new chapter, new possibilities and her new life for the year. The tunnel was just the transition, and the hardest part was to not turn around and not stop moving forward, because, after all, time does not stop with you. The more you slow down, the more you have to catch up. Last year was behind her, and now it was time to move on and cross that tunnel.

The tunnel seemed long, but eventually, the light was getting closer and closer.

She started talking to more people, making friends, and didn't have to eat lunch alone anymore. She started becoming more confident in class and participated more, because she became less scared of being judged. She started feeling less lost in class, and followed the lessons more easily. And soon, she was going to be able to recover from her injury and run again. It just required time, and patience. 

She was not there yet, but the more she felt the light, the more she was motivated to reach it. 

Sometimes, she thought about the past, and her happy memories that seemed so far gone. Her home, her country, her old friends and the rest of her family; she was missing it all. But she kept moving forward, following the light, because deep down she knew more was to come. She understood that staying in the past meant missing hundreds of more memories in the future.

She was doing all of this because she hoped that the person she would become in a few years was going to be proud of her. That person was going to thank her for all her efforts and show her how she eventually succeeded - how all the efforts she made were worth it. The route she created with all those tunnels led to the life she wanted to have as a grown up. 

She wanted that woman to think about her whenever she had to cross a tunnel, and just keep going, because that is what she always did.

Brighten the Sky

A few days ago, I was walking by the beach, and that is when I noticed her. She was a person whom I didn’t mind talking to, but still didn’t talk to much. At least, that was until that point in time. Her name was Clara, and I was her classmate, but I didn’t speak to her much because she seemed quite uncomfortable and kept her distance. I understood that she had her own friends and decided to let her do what she wanted to do, as I was not the kind of person who likes to interfere. She would also respect my personal space.

But that afternoon, something seemed off. She seemed very  lonely, without her usual friends. I watched her, and realized she was drawing. My heart sank when I saw her drawing. It was dark, with a blue tone. This made me feel sympathy for her, knowing that she felt the effects of lacking friends. I knew I couldn’t just leave her in this deep melancholy. 

I called out, “Hey, Clara.” 

She turned her head slowly, and I could see that she was forcing a smile. “Oh, hi.” She said with a voice choked with emotion. Her cheeks had streaks of leftover tears. That was when I realized she had been crying for a while.

I sat next to her with a bit of distance, I didn’t want to overwhelm her. “I never knew that you drew,” I said slightly cheerfully, trying to keep the conversation light. I didn’t want to make her feel more isolated and mention the fact that her usual friends weren’t here. 

“Well, I learned it when I was in primary school, and my teacher wanted me to take on the career of an artist,” she said. “I didn’t really feel like it, though, so I decided to keep drawing as a habit in case everything else fails.” 

I looked more closely at the drawing. It was a drawing of herself and her friends, with her friends far behind her. The dark blue background contrasted against her bright yellow and orange friends. Clara, on the other hand, wore dark clothes, seeming rather depressed in the drawing. A wave of concern washed over me. How could someone so talented feel so lost? I felt an ache in my chest, a desperate urge to reach out and ease her suffering. Yet I hesitated, unsure if my presence would bring comfort or add to her burden.

Not knowing what to say to comfort her, I said, “If you need help, I am always here.” This was something that I said often. I truly meant it every time I said it. 

She nodded her head while a few drops of tear escaped her eyes. Hurriedly, I took out a paper towel and passed it to her. “Thanks,” she said. 

I waited for a moment, sitting silently next to her. It was soon the evening, and the sun hid timidly behind the horizon. 

Suddenly, Clara said, “Perhaps my life is like the sky. Sometimes, I am happy, like how bright the sky is during the day time. But eventually, the long night time comes, full of darkness.” 

I was shocked, but I kept my composure, “perhaps you are right. But, the sun isn’t the only thing that can brighten the sky. During night time, there is the moon and stars that lighten the sky, although perhaps not as brightly as the sun.” As I said that, the moon started to reveal its face, making the sky seem lighter in darkness. I heard Clara let a big breath out. 

“You are right,” said Clara slowly, taking time to think, “not everything is dependent on my friends. I guess… I do have other people… like you… that I can rely on sometimes. I am really glad that you came and talked to me. Thanks so much for letting me realize this, Tom.” 

This was the first time I heard her call me Tom, because she has always called me Thomas before. “You're welcome, and I hope to be able to get along with you better,” I said. 

I was happy to have been able to help her, and as the sky brightened, I wanted this precious moment with Clara to last forever, and I knew that our relationship would never be the same as what it was before.

What is Light?

What is light?
Is the light bright?

Or is the light dark?

Can the light be seen?

Or maybe not?

Light is all around us

Whether in day or night

It may not be noticeable

But it will always be there

to guide your way

through the waves of terror

through spring to winter

May you always remember

The light of the world

And the light inside you

The Countdown

Hour 1

I never thought I would find myself here. Electrical engineering students don’t go out much. In fact, most barely leave their dorm rooms at all. They certainly don’t venture into Bunker 7 alone.

But electrical engineering students are also perfectionists. When my professor handed me back my last paper, with a massive ‘D’ scrawled on the front in red pen, the ink just beginning to bleed, I knew that I had to knock this one completely out of the park. 

My grandfather was in the army back in the day. Based on his broken recollection of Bunker 7, I should have probably backed out of this plan. Found a different thesis idea. Anything but come here, without telling anyone. 

Well, it’s too late now. I was already two-thirds of the way down the dirt path that led to this place, some fenced off area in the middle of nowhere, buried in the side of Mount Greylock. People had different names for Bunker 7, back where I grew up. Dead Man’s Post, The Box, The Tomb. 

Most infamously, the tale went that anyone who stepped foot in Bunker 7, only had 7 hours to make it out alive. The countdown started the moment you crossed the threshold.

Still, these were all urban legends. Folklore. Maybe the soldiers assigned here just got unlucky. There had to be some kind of scientific reason why they all went missing. Decommissioned in the 80s, Bunker 7 has a strangely resilient lighting system. Hence, my thesis topic was on the resilience of mid 20th century military-grade communications systems. 

I parked my car near the edge of the worn-down fencing, climbing through the sharp metal, careful not to get scraped by the remnants of barbed wire strewn haphazardly around the area.

The door was buried under layers of foliage. I grimaced as a couple of beetles and other crawlers scrambled out of the pile of dead leaves and soil. Hopefully that was the most I would be seeing of them. Slowly, I lowered myself, rung by rung, into the underground bunker. I checked my watch while I was at it.

12:00.

This place reeked of a smell I could only describe as sickness. A faint metallic smell wafted into my nose, along with a stench of rotting organic matter. I did my best to hold back the bile rising in my throat.

The reactor powered on around me, a low, foreign, whirring sound that made my head hurt. The lights flickered on, one by one. The steel pipes and metal vents had long corroded, amber rust flaking off bit by bit. My plan was to explore the bunker, examine the communications systems, and then get the hell out.

As I finally located the control room and stepped inside, the overhead lights switched on, albeit taking a little too long to activate. I dismissed it as faulty wiring, probably caused by corrosion.

Hour 2

I had gotten used to the smell by now. It was a little dank, of course, but breathing solely through my mouth made it dissipate just slightly. By now, I had migrated to a different hallway, and was carefully examining the wiring behind a cracked wall panel.

A strange, metallic scraping caught my attention. I lifted my head slowly, my senses heightened. A rat, perhaps? There shouldn’t be anyone else here. 

No one would be nearly insane enough.

The same overhead lights flicker again. They snapped off, then on again. A sharp, deliberate click-flash. Then several seconds later, it happened again. More sustained this time.

Click-flaaaaaaash.

I paused, my hand frozen over the wiring diagram, trembling just slightly, my body motionless, static fro fear. Two short flickers and then… nothing. A fault doesn’t repeat like that. 

A fault doesn’t feel so intentional.

I recorded it anyway. Inconsistent relay in Hallway A-1.

Hour 3
Goosebumps ran over the expanse of my skin. I wrapped my flannel button up a little tighter around myself as I headed back to the control room, where my backpack was. I only had to examine a few more hallways, and then I would never have to even drive past this place again.

I kneeled down beside a rusty desk, as I packed up my tools. The air felt a little colder than when I had first come, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to erect. It felt like someone was watching me.

I whip around. Nothing.

I took a deep breath. I was being paranoid. No one was here. Those soldiers’ stupid tales about the seven hours were nothing but drinking stories. I was fine. Everything was fine.

Until it happened again.

Click-flaaaaaaash.

A pause ensued, long enough for me to hope that it was over. Then, it came again, this time, in shorter bursts.

Flash-flash.

My breath hitched. One long, two short. My mind automatically relayed to the first elective course I took freshman year as it supplied the translation. TI?

No, I was being stupid. I was sleep deprived and freaked out of my mind. The message didn’t even make sense. This was just a short circuit, nothing more.

Hour 4

I made my way down a level, marked B-2 on a map I had found, slotted between two ancient-looking books in the local library’s archives.

I tried my best to ignore the light, simply focusing on the resistant readings, on the way the wires were connected to each other. I would be fine. I just had to collect this data and then I could go back to my dorm and burrow under the sheets and never come out again.

But the light was impossible to ignore, and by now, the sequence had grown.

Click-flaaaaaash.

Flash-flash.

Click-flaaaaaash. Click-flaaaaaash.

Flash.

“TIME”? My blood ran cold. The air in the bunker somehow got a little thinner.

Hour 5

That was enough. I had to get out. The data didn’t even matter to me anymore, it was enough, anyway. I could supplement it with other sources, I could go online, if I had to. I broke into a jog, my feet thumping on the concrete flooring, loud and echoey. The light followed me, strobing violently.

My hands reached for the ladder, the oxidised metal scraping uncomfortably against my palms as I began to pull myself up each rung. I raced for the control room, stumbling over cracks in the ground as I scrambled for my backpack.

Then the pattern came again.

Click-flaaaaaash.

Flash-flash.

Click-flaaaaaash. Click-flaaaaaash.

Flash.

Flash-flash.

Flash-flash-flash.

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath laboured. I didn’t need a chart, I knew this, burned into my brain from countless project specs. 

“TIME IS.”

Hour 6

I frantically packed up my tools, shoving my maps and my notes and my blueprints into my backpack. Under any other circumstance, I would have been thrilled, trying to discover why the light was flickering so strangely. 

Right now? I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to get out.

I grabbed the handle of my backpack as I reached for the heavy metal door. Frankly, I didn’t remember closing it. The bolt had definitely been left drawn back. But now, it was slammed shut from the outside.

I tugged once. Twice. It didn’t budge.

My heart rate spiked, as my mind raced in circles. My forearms strained as I yanked the handle forcefully. Nothing moved.

I was locked in.

A choked sob escaped my windpipes as I slapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes starting to tear up.

I crawled under the desk, grabbing my backpack and sliding it towards me. I hugged my knees, trying to quiet my breathing. The overhead lights had stopped flickering. They were stable. My heart started to slow just a little bit.

And then the reactor stopped whirring. The entire bunker was plunged into darkness.

I let out a pathetically loud whimper, clawing for the flashlight I kept in my backpack. It flickered. My flashlight, my own flashlight, switched on, all by itself.

A single, soft pop of light in the silence.

It was in here, with me.

The flashlight began to pulse, just like those overhead lights had. Not randomly. In a rhythm I now knew too well.

TIME IS.

There was an agonizing pause, in which the darkness of the control room felt solid, pressing in on me, sitting on my chest and choking me with iron hands.

Then it started again. A new sequence.

Flash-flash. Click-flaaaaaaash.

Flash. Click-flaaaaaaash-Click-flaaaaaaash.

I didn’t want to understand. I didn’t want to know. But my mind, the one that had reviewed the same chart over and over, strung the letters together anyway. 

TIME IS UW? One short, two long. I ran through each letter that had this sequence. W? J?

P. Except the final, missing flicker, never came.

The room sank into darkness. My mind finished the phrase it had been building for hours. Time is… up? I look down at my watch. 

18:55. 

I still had time, right? Unless I had become another one of the fateful soldiers that had-

Hour 7

The cycle repeated once more. 

It spelt out the same horrible phrase that had already been carved into my hippocampus. The flashing made my head hurt, lines and glares of bright white, ricocheting off of each wall as it spelt out the phrase.

The final short flicker I had been dreading hung in the air, the bulb glowing steadily, casting my distorted shadow on the wall. And in the silence, the message echoed in the hollow of my skull, more terrifying than any sound.

TIME IS UP.