The candles are not lit.
Pitch black IS the experience.
Hot, muggy stickiness.
The bugs like that.
Something is crawling on me.
Maybe it's better I have no light.
There are others, their breathing
seems to sync with the crickets outside.
I wonder how many more days
we will be here.
It's not safe to leave, there are hefty bounties
on each of our heads.
To light a fire right now is too risky.
The smoke will draw the king's spies.
Warriors skilled in battle hiding
as if they are weak.
They are not.
Such a waste of strength and honor.
Does God know what He's doing?
Probably, but it doesn't make sense.
To be normal would be so easy-
and boring, wearing that mask of ease.