Summary:
In a world engulfed by perpetual darkness under the ominous Black Moon, a young, tormented soul navigates a desolate village haunted by silence and despair. Plagued by haunting screams from within and the ever-present whispers of an unseen presence downstairs, he struggles to reconcile his loneliness and the crushing weight of his reality. As he gazes into the void, waiting for a sign, he finds himself drawn deeper into a fate shaped by the relentless pull of the dark forces around him.
Imp
by
Marco S. Teixeira
What many did not know was that for as long as those inner howls persisted and the agonizing screeches of defeat inside every heart remained true, then the Black Moon would always be faithful. Melodies in the perpetual dark, sounds composed by the smallest thoughts of chivalry and performed by the inevitable screams of defeat that such noble thoughts always bring. A defined, impious-like darkness had long taken hold of everything here, and no amount of faith or prayer could ever hope to dispel it.
One scream suddenly came for his attention, louder and more familiar than all the others. A cry that so easily pulled him out of that dream and back to his own dark reality. The little one woke up thus, like many times before: with twists and turns, sweating profusely while trying to get a hold of his bearings.
“Father,” he cried with one hand over his wooden chest, “Everyone…”
Slowly he made it out of that creaking bed, made of wood and twig and leaf and dazedly he began making his way towards a narrow door across his poorly lit bedroom. It led to a small balcony from which he could have the view of his entire village.
It was nighttime. As it had been for as long as he could remember. A perpetual darkness that so easily challenged the meanings of pitch black. Deep and unnatural and giving little room to imagination and none to detail. He could barely discern the houses closest to him as their darkened shapes struggled to stand out from that perpetual night. And above it all, a moon darker than all the rest.
It was raining. Not like he could see it, but he could however feel the raindrops hitting him gently, one by one. He could feel them then sliding down his cragged face after the fact. Not a single drop ever made any sound. In the distance however, way past those mighty black trees that circled his entire village, roars and rumbles struggled to see who would come out on top. Perhaps the troubled sounds of thunder; the drums of instigation for all those strikes of lightning constantly trying to breakthrough that darkness, would triumph above the rest.
He heard a subtle rattling noise coming from downstairs, like whimpering whispers, a calling already too familiar to him. He decided to pay it no mind, at least not for now for he knew what it was and what it wanted to ask of him. It had done so every day for the past… Ever since he had been left alone. Instead, he chose to stand there somewhat despondently, as if waiting, hoping for a sign. Or perhaps just to enjoy the privileged power that is allotted to us when we are allowed to make a choice. He waited and what he wanted soon came to him…
and then