Fear the fear, and the fear will be fearful forever.
Those moments of silence have always delighted him. It was 2 hours past midnight. The calm clouds were now swiftly moving across a dimly lit sky accompanied by the cool breeze that blew north east. The breeze was quiet, not even whistling as it cornered along the old stone walls. He stood proudly in the corridor feeling the breeze lull his tiresome soul into sleep. Nothing could be heard around, except the dog nails crunching the ground as it passed to reach its own destination. The light was somehow irritating his drooping eyes. And snap! It was a power cut. He got accustomed to this culture, but, this time, somehow, he felt the chill.
The lights were all blown out, and the crescent moon, he first noticed then, was trying to peep through the white clouds, over a sheer translucence. He was thirsty, thanks to the oils and spices of India. The water tap is a furlong away and quenching his thirst would mean walking into the corridor where its walls would engulf it in darkness. It has been only 6 months and yet, he would not be afraid to make his way through it all. He walked. As he came by the long room opening in the corridor to his right, nothing changed. Nothing did change indeed, except for the shiver that struck him. Assuring himself of his knowledge, he trudged.
The tap could not be seen, yet knowing his exact location he moved. He reached there, saying to himself that darkness is no weapon against him. As he turned the tap, the water drops began to trickle and then to flow, striking the steel sink down in a clinking rhythm. He bent down arching his hand and letting the water wash his hand off, and then sipped it. He realized the stillness around him as he heard the water drown into him jumping over his gulps. The world around seemed to get gloomier even as the moon tried to shower his radiance through the clear sky. His thirst died out and he stood and turned back, back into the pitch black darkness.
He then realized his loneliness. He wanted to run, but his worn out slippers seemed a ton heavier. He wanted to scream to light up, but the words would not run in the box. His heart at as peace as it always was, pouring into him the determination to walk, prompted him to walk. So he did back, the corridor echoing with the rustling of leaves. He knew the reason he did not like it, it was dark and darkness in evil. He did not fear it. Mustering the courage, he reached back and was drawing patterns unknown in the sky; making stars his dots on his paint board.
The lights lit again as a satisfactory smile sagged his lips. He learnt his lessons, that people fear the unknown.