Saturday, July 28, 2007

Night And Day

By Matthew Sanborn Smith

Everybody said they were like night and day. In fact, they weren’t merely like night and day, they were night and day. And they were in love. And like most others who were in love, they were completely miserable. They touched at the edges always, and nothing more. They wanted to embrace each other, but as he moved west to reach her, she moved west to reach him. Always. Always. Always. Perhaps they thought if they did it long enough, one would finally catch the other.

Day longed for their union, a burning purple dawn/dusk everywhere at once. If only. He cursed the damned world for forever being in their way, for coming between them. He scorched the land, wanted to punish it simply for existing, but Night took pity on the poor world, and cooled it with black salve and gentle wind. This enraged the jealous Day. He unleashed all of his light and heat and vaporized the world in a mindless nuclear fury. Not a scrap of it survived.

“Finally,” Day said. “Nothing can come between us ever again.” But even as he spoke the words he realized she had left him. “Come back,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” But what was he to do? He had destroyed the world. There was no bringing it back. Would she ever forgive him?

He left a light on, hoping she’d come back one day.

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