It was dark. Yes, most certainly dark. Darker than archival ink. Darker than the most evil person's heart. Darker than the bottom of the ocean. Darker than space. Darker than a black hole.
It was dark.
And he was alone.
Lost and blind.
The Ink Man lied on the ground for a while. Contemplating what was happening. He had been climbing down, the rope snapped, and now he was here... What a combination of unfortunate events for him.
Like a blind man, the Ink Man rose slowly and feeling around to get his bearings. His black fingers (blending into the dark) felt nothing. He swayed his arms, nothing. He began to take a few slow steps forward. His head bumped into a wall. He spread his hands over it. He felt rock. He decided to follow it to the left.
For what felt like hours in his head he followed the wall. During this he just kept thinking.
Why did this happen to me?
Why is it so dark?
Will I be here forever?
Isn't there not supposed to be danger in paradise?
How deep am I?
Where am I going?
Why is it so quiet?
...
Why am I alone?
He surprised himself with this question. Why did he never think about it? Ever since he arrived, even before the first rain, he was always alone. He can't exactly talk to animals (well he can't talk in general). Point is, he was always alone, never knowing what was happening to him next. Almost like he was...
Always in the dark.
He tried not to think about it too hard. Maybe he would try to find someone once he escaped (if he does). Suddenly his world began to shake. He collapsed and fell into another crevice.
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Man
General FictionIn the beginning there was nothing but white. How boring. Everywhere you looked. Up, down, left, right, forward, back. White as starlight, as a full moon, as the coldest snow. Barren and empty. Then the first ink droplet fell.
