It’s midnight sky, interrupted only by a scattering of stars. It’s the sleek coat of a panther stalking through the jungle. It’s the soot and ashes of the fire, the burnt wood after the flames are long gone. It’s a flock of bats, blindly flitting across the night sky. It’s the raven cackling in the tree tops, an eerie cry from above. It’s hematite crystals, grown from the earth after millennia. It’s the new moon, briefly lost to the turning of the earth.
It’s the sombre outfits of the funeral procession, silent in mourning. It’s the blank screen of a device that refuses to come back to life again. It’s a plain uniform, simple and lacking any colour or embellishments. It’s a blank chalkboard, the lessons and diagrams of teaching wiped away. It’s the tarmac of the roads, as car after car whizzes over them. It’s soft smudges of charcoal, mixed into our foods and beauty products. It’s a pair of sunglasses, big and bold, designed to darken the world.
It’s an elegant dress, an old favourite that never fades. It’s a freshly brewed cup of coffee, smooth and dark. It’s a long mane of silky hair, blowing in the breeze. It’s a tough leather jacket, well worn from years of use. It’s a classic suit, well-tailored and always in style. It’s a pot of ink, with the pen waiting to be dipped into it. It’s the scrawl of words or musical notation as they cover the page, bringing stories to life.
It’s the spider in her web, waiting to capture her prey, or the widow waiting to devour her mate. It’s shadows cast on the ground, hiding the sunlight. It’s a dark flower, its petals an ominous and rare shade in the garden. It’s the empty, soulless eyes of a demonic spirit. It’s the signs of decomposition, as all the light and life fades away. It’s the midnight robes of the Grim Reaper himself. It’s eternal emptiness, the endless void of nothing.
It’s elegance, simplicity, and stillness. It’s darkness, absence, and death.