Do Not Go Gentle Into The Night Novels & Stories

The rooftop lights have dimmed without being asked. Somewhere in the walls a soft voice is humming the lullaby I sang to children who may only exist in code. I am not afraid. Somewhere north of nowhere, a valley is still green. Somewhere a man with storm-grey eyes still says yes a thousand times every morning. Pomegranate. See you in December. The diary ends. The last page is pressed with the empty rind, stained the exact colour of forgiveness. (End of interludes)

He sat feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what Sarah was up to. "Ryan, Incase I die, do not weep by my grave." "How...like what do you mean?" He looked at her perplexed. "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.

The snow kept falling. The world kept turning. And for the first time since that kitchen island We weren’t running. We were arriving. Somewhere new. Somewhere ours. The phone stayed silent. The sirens stayed distant. And between us The heat never faded. It just changed shape. Became something quieter. Deeper. Eternal. We had one more night. One more locked door. One more chance to burn slow. So we did. Again. And again. Until dawn crept through the curtains.

Daphne took the time to glance at the enjoyable expression on her face, and asked: "Are you still going thinking about your sister..." .... .... .... Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. She walks in beauty, like the night

My body is a stone. I am broken. But I am still here. One day left. I let the darkness take me. Tomorrow, the Queen rises from the dead.

The city that does not sleep, moving below us, indifferent and continuous. Everything changed tonight. Everything is still changing. I held her hand in the dark and I let it. ---

You will not rob him of that. You've lost your fair share of battles. You have come against those who refuse to go gentle into the night. He will rage against the dying of the light. He will rage against you. And, his light will still shine bright. He might accept that you are here. But what he can do is fight and fight he will. Yes, life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"

I sat with that for a while and did not rush the conclusion. A cigarette. The small ritual of it, the amber light of the ember in the dark of the room, the particular quality of thinking that came with something occupying the hands and leaving the mind to move. The grounds outside the window had gone fully dark, the late autumn dark that had weight to it, pressing against the glass. The compound was at its quietest. The second watch change had come and gone and the rotation had settled and the night had reached the hour when even the most alert among us began to trust the silence. She had not moved.

The voice made me remember a verse our pastor used as a sermon in the bible the last time I attended the evening bible study that always takes place every Tuesday. I can recall the verse very well that says, "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Take therefore the whole armour of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand, therefore, with your loins girt with truth and your breastplate of righteousness on. And with the preparation of the gospel of peace on your feet;

No longer would they allow themselves to be trampled—not this time. It wasn't the end, but a new beginning.