A Spark of Life
The first thing I noticed was that it was dark. Almost pitch black in fact, but I could more sense than see a light coming from somewhere. I tried to orient myself so that I could face the light, but I couldn’t move. My whole being was swaddled in something. There was barely a pocket of air between me and the musty material that surrounded me. I swelled myself up as much as I could, trying to create some space. A loud crack rattled through me, and I was able to reach a part of me out; I couldn’t tell what part, but it was so good to reach out and feel a cold dampness. I revelled in that for a while, unaware of time passing.
Later, a long time later I think, it seemed brighter. Every inch of me was warmer and I could feel the close embrace of the small world that I was enclosed within. I realised that there must have been another crack, because now there was another part of me that was able to stretch out. I was more sure of this part of me; I was definitely moving and it felt like I was moving towards that light.
I was drained. The cocoon around me felt stifling; it was hotter than it had been and I couldn’t focus. Then everything got better suddenly; first it got much darker, then cooler, then I was soaked. I felt myself come alive as the magnificent moisture soaked in through every fibre of my being.
Everything happened faster after that. Once the cold wet had stopped its torrent, the light was closer still. I could almost feel it now: it was just beyond the home-dark.
Then, in one glorious moment, I was free.
At first, the brightness was too much. A white glare that stopped me from being able to make out anything around me. After a while, I was able to unfurl a little and I could perceive a world so unlike the one in which I had found my consciousness. It was all many colours. The nearest colours were shades of the same darkness that had enclosed me; they were familiar and warmth filled me when I recognised these colours.
Further away, I found another colour. Looking down at myself, I realised that these coloured things were similar shades to me. Some of them were different shapes, but that felt good too; there were other things that were like-me.
When I turned to face the warmth – the light – I realised that there were colours beyond counting. Some of them were mingled with the things that were the same shade as me – anchored into the home-dark. Other colours were further away still; they weren’t attached to anything. They danced around, free from the home-dark. Some zipped fast, others lazily whirled. There was even one thing, a mix of colours, that seemed to visit each of the like-me things, whispering at one in its bright colour, then moving on to the next.
As the light beamed down, a warmth filled me and I swelled with joy.
A little bit about the Author:
Gwen Weir is a UK based writer of short stories. An avid reader, she developed a passion for fiction and has been writing for a number of years. Currently working towards her Masters Degree in Creative Writing through the Open University, Gwen has written in many genres, including crime thriller, science fiction and fantasy, and has published work in eZines in 2020. When not writing, Gwen is a Primary School Teacher (who also writes with her classes). She enjoys exploring the wilder, more remote parts of the UK with her husband; wild-camping, campervanning, or on their motorcycles.