Clash of Shadows

Clash of Shadows is the first story out of a short series I intend to write in the future, this is a preview.

Written By

 * User:BionicalSpork

Prologue
The room was a void of darkness as shadows stirred around the circle of light that was the candle. Nothing dared break the looming silence that dwelt in the shrouding shadows of the room, as if beyond the candle there was nothing, not even sound. Slowly the small light source began to fade just as it always did. The candle was at its end. The shadows danced in loops as the candle dwindled and died. The darkness with greed consumed the candle, once more ending what little life had grown from the light source, forcing the room to damnation in the shadowed hell that was always and forever the enemy of light.

 Santo woke to silence. The darkness around him so thick it felt as if he was blind. Nothing but the bed beneath him stimulated his senses. Like usual his dreams had awoken him. Santo was prone to nightmares, all of which followed the same pattern, a room starved of light, with darkness eating away at it. Ever since he could remember these fantasies stalked his mind at night, so long in fact had these terrors known him he could scarcely think of a night when one hadn’t paid him a visit. One would think that he would adjust, and grow desensitised to the sights he had known for so long. But truth be told, Santo was as scared as ever of the night terrors that knew him all too well.

 This dream however was different, never before had the candled died in his dream. The darkness had always fought it, the darkness had danced and grown and pushed it to its last breath, but never had the light actually died. Santo lifted himself from his muddled bed, ever aware that it was darkness still that surrounded him. Step by step he took himself to his door, the entrance of his hut. The shadows flew away as Santo walked through, letting moonlight frighten away what little it could of the darkness that dwelt within his home. The moon seemed to smile on him as he took his steps from the doorway and out into the village. Often a walk extinguished the foul dreams from his find, but not this night. This night Santo would wonder until the darkness slowly past. If any did ask how he had slept Santo would act as if nothing was different. He would lie and tell them he slept well, maybe even tell a false tale as to what he dreamed of. Very few knew of Santo’s nightmares and he intended to keep it so. Who knows what others may think of him if he told them he hardly slept half a night, stirred by fictional evil. No, it was better left alone. Besides, what could come of dreams?