It’s what my Mother used to say. She said it when I’d missed the deadline for my school homework. I couldn’t understand why she said that. It was the morning I was afraid of. That was when I had to tell my teacher the dog ate my 9 times table. I remember it being really dark. I watched a creepy crawlie wander across the ceiling, I felt frightened and shouted for her to come. I pointed it out to her. She chastised me for keeping the light on too late and told me to behave. I tried to explain, the beastie was darker than the darkness. That’s what happened Mum, honest. It’s dark now. Blacker than the creepy crawlie I thought as my life played out in front of me, so clear. Trying to run the five-minute mile down the wee hill. The day the dinner lady made me eat all the carrots off the plate everybody’s scraps had been scraped into. The look on the nasty old cow’s face as I puked it all up. Deal with that one horrible witch. Not that I thought that at the time, I wasn’t old enough then, hadn’t learnt enough life lessons to get me to that point. The point I am at now, sitting in the dark. The wee boy is all dressed up, best trousers and brand-new shirt, with a little waistcoat to match. A wee gentleman. Everyone said so. Blond hair and blue eyes. So beautiful. He danced as the waves rolled in, he tracked his footsteps in the sand and ran to find them as the sea carried them away.
His older brother stood on the top of the cliff, shouting to the world, all the way to America, letting the world know he was alive, allowing the wind to blow his hair. His chest protruded, leaning in to the force of the wind, making his body sway precariously on the edge.
The sun shone high in the sky, fair weather clouds buffeted away or burned through. Happiness and joy below, glasses filled with champagne toasting wealth and health in a little cave on the beach.
I look back to the sea. The blonde hair lies splayed on top of the water. The golden brocade of his waistcoat glints in the sun as it bobs gently near the shore. The wild sea had swallowed and now regurgitated the beautiful child that had played before. I open my mouth to shout but my voice is silenced. It is lost. I look towards the cliff, to find the other little boy so full of life, shouting into the wind, knowing he was stronger than it. He is gone. His body lies on the blood-stained rocks, not yet washed away by the lapping of the waves. My voice is lost. My life is lost. Now I sit in the dark, my demons darker than the darkness, waiting for the morning I hope never comes.