Condemned to the Darkness.

When one has always lived in a shelter of specific qualities, how is it possible to live outside of them? When once you have learned the ways of what you were born with, is it possible to adapt to anything different? Sometimes it is simple for one to learn the new paths from which they never thought to seek… For others, it is impossible.

All that could be heard was the soft clatter of dishes being gently washed and cleaned amongst the soft silence layered about the small village cottage. A young boy preparing them stood in thick darkness listening to the soft drip of the overflowing wash sink that spilled from time to time onto the hardwood floor at his feet.
“You overflowed it again.” A low voice sounded behind him. An older, angry child came up behind the boy and pulled him back roughly, unplugging the wash sink and letting it drain into an empty bucket. “You keep overflowing it and the floor gets all wet with soap and water. You think you’d have the ear to listen to how high the water rises by now, Amos?”
The boy stood silent, his hands pruned and soaked. He lifted his head and stared off emotionlessly. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know. You live a life of darkness. You’re only problems in this house and that’s why mother left us the day you were born… you cause only pain and issue.”
The boy lowered his head back down and repeated himself. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t know. That’s why I named you Amos, because that’s all you are to me. Amos; worthless. A burden. Now take this candle and go to the attic where you belong.”
“But it’s not enough light.” Amos reached blindly for the candle’s ring. “It never is and you know it.”
“You know why don’t you?” His sneering brother shoved the candle into Amos’ hand. A bit of a smirk was pasted upon his expression. “Because too much light could kill you. It’s always been that way for you. Mother wasn’t that way. I don’t see why you had to punish her for it.” The boy turned and departed from Amos.
Amos shook his head and called to his brother, “I never understood why though!” His only response was the loud slamming of a door somewhere in a distant room. He did as he always did and blindly searched for the stairs towards the attic door, behind of which his life had always taken place each waking day. Upon opening the door he heard a familiar squawk and a bit of a feasting noise on a pile of forgotten trunks near him. He followed the sound and sat down near it, resting his candle close by.

In the distance the toll of powerful bells was audible, giving a content mood of shallow reverence. The bells were a daily routine and were the only ways in which the boy could distinguish between daylight and moonlight.
“Atticus…” He remained silent for a moment before continuing. “What is it like? The sun, you know? The light. I only know of the darkness… Why am I condemned a life of darkness?”
The feasting owl halted his preying upon the pack rat he had caught in a corner of the attic and gave a quick blink. “The light will kill you, Amos. You know that.”
“But I don’t understand why, Atticus.” The boy shifted a bit.
“You were born penetrable to light. Anything beyond the light of this candle will singe your entire body, leading you to an untimely death.”
Amos spoke nothing as Atticus tilted his head and began feasting again. His whole life has been condemned to nothing but darkness and a light that provides no shelter to his happiness. Atticus is an owl that has lived in the attic of Amos’ home for as long as Amos’ life has spanned. Amos discovered at a young age that he was able to have conversation with Atticus, whom is the only source of comfort and happiness he has ever known.
“Sometimes I think that’s why Mother left me and brother.”
Atticus responded not and continued to feast.
“Because I drained her life of light… and drowned her in the darkness. Sometimes I think I was born of nothing but darkness… and that it suffocated her… asphyxiated her while she tried to birth me and it was too much, so she gave up.” He turned head toward Atticus. “Or maybe she decided she didn’t want to take care of a child who could bear nothing but darkness. Brother always did blame me, you know… And never once have I seen the sun. And these candles that brother give to me are never bright enough, not a bit, for me to see them or anything. Not even you…”
Atticus cooed softly as he nibbled up the last remains of his supper.
“But what is the sun like? And the colors I never see…”
“I would not know, Amos. I am nocturnal. I live nothing but the darkness and the moon. Anything aside from that I slumber upon.”
“I see…” Amos was not reassured. He lowered his head and sighed a bit shakily.
“Nor can I see color.” Atticus cleansed his talons caringly. “You live a life of complete and total darkness because, whether she was aware of it or not, your mother was sick. She had such a difficult time trying to bring you into this world that she spared your life in exchange for hers… but with a cost upon you.”
“The darkness?”
“Yes. That is why you cannot see beyond the darkness, Amos. You have lived your life within this attic and have never once stepped foot into a world of dangers and opposition. This is what you are used to. Anything different of the darkness could kill you.”
Amos fidgeted with the box he sat upon, tugging at an area that was ruining. “And still the candle was never enough… And my mother was sick, so therefore was I… Is that why I’ve never once been able to see my brother’s face?”
“I can only teach to you so much at a time, Amos. One day maybe you will be able to see beyond the darkness and understand why it is not just about the light.” Atticus paused a moment. “But even that would not be enough to show you beyond this world you live in.”
Amos rubbed his eyes and stared hopelessly at his dark environment. “Is that so, Atticus?”
Atticus gave his talons a final cleanse and puffed his chest out a bit. “Sometimes it is simple for one to learn the new paths from which they never thought to seek… For others… it is impossible.”
Amos sat discontentedly with his head hanging a bit low. He rose and began toward the door to the attic. Atticus watched in interest.
“Well, no more.” Amos searched with his hand through the darkness for the doorknob. “It is time I saw something beyond this dark façade I am forced to live in…”
Atticus puffed his chest again and ruffled his feathers in a bit of excitement. He watched as Amos exited the small shelter and listened as he slowly, carefully, edged his way back down the stairs. He flew to the window of the attic and tackled a crack in the wooden blinds to part them, perching on the sill and watching.
Amos slowly opened the front door to his small cottage home, brief flashbacks of his painful birth flashing through-- remembering the pain and the burns, remembering the light that faded so quickly before him, but never seeing his mother’s face… or his brother. He stepped outside and froze still, waiting for the pain, but… none came. He slowly raised his hands up a bit, staring blindly into a never ceasing darkness, wondering what could be before him. He smiled excitedly. “Atticus.” He chuckled a bit. “Atticus, it doesn’t hurt! I feel no pains. But, oh, how I wish I could see what was out here. Why does the darkness still follow me?” A small zephyr breezed past him and ruffled his hair. “Wow… So this is what it feels like outside of the attic, outside of the cottage.” He gently tried to catch the zephyr with his fingers. “But how does it not hurt?”
Atticus perched quietly, looking for a while at the Moon and then back down to Amos. “Perhaps it is not impossible, Amos,” he cooed. “Perhaps there is always a bit of light out there for anybody who seeks it…”