[ WP ] The sun goes out . Tell the story of a person who now lives a world of darkness .

If all sins were produced in the dark, quiet times, what would one say of now? 
 
 I work, I rush, and I hesitate all in the cover of blackness. My drudgery left to itself. I continue to type melodic tunes away at my keyboard. The hope was said to have left, yet I feel slightly as fruitful than my last years. The ten to five has evolved into my own hours. I report frequently as my job is now more relevant than ever. In this age, humanity seems to have been stricken with a plaque that has a sure consistency. 
 
 As I receive the call, I pack my laptop and look upon myself in the mirror before I head out. The time for show is now imminent. Walking up the flight of stairs I see the person waiting at the top. I wonder if she will slit her wrist or maybe if she was grander, a noose would suffice for the job. My line's are flashing on the teleprompter, I'm recanting those meaningless stories once again. The child who has been saved from a potential rape/murder, the school team who is beginning new initiatives for students, and the scientist who has a devout solution for the blackness. As I finish, I notice the fleeting smiles from the staff. 
 What were they even smiling for? 
 
 I step out of the studio, and look towards the sky. No bliss and no warmth. The sun's grande facade taken aback, with not a glimmer of shine. I take out a cigarette and my matchbox. The spark and flame providing the only real light in the area. The damned UV street lamps paving every open surface of the sidewalk. People still walk as before, yet there seems to be something distant in the back of their minds. Something unsettling to them, slowly beginning to propagate through me. 
 
 My joy blog flashes with visitors. I sip coffee under the veranda, laughing for a second as I gaze up. My stories receiving more and more affirmations from the tropes of hopeless individuals. I do n't even bother with the pressing topics anymore. Even the simplest horrors spark such terror in people as of now. 
 
 I simply have to post a picture of a baby with a quip about how the mother struggled and persevered. Just this simple story aids so well according to my boss. Yet as I sit here, why do I feel nothing from these stories? Knowing that they are in fact so inaccurate that they almost compel me to wretch at my own writing. 
 
 Depression, with suicides soaring past previous peaks. This is what I would like to write about. How John, your barista, is most likely going to off himself at 12:01 because he feels helpless and lost with no guidance. How half of your inner circle will in some shape be placed into a mental institution or a bag in the crematorium. The rape statistics far exceeding the past 50 years, in the span of 10. These are the issues of which the public should be informed, yet are so undelivered upon. 
 
 I do know my place however. If these deceptions help out for the greater cause then they must be right. For as I sit at my desk and look out my window, to the landscape that once used to shimmer off those skyscrapers, I realize the schematic that propelled us to such vast heights. 
 
 It was not the sunshine that illuminated our happiness. But the ability to see others and their own happiness. 
 
 So as I find myself too often walking in the constant of grey, I do in fact miss that one thing. That one smile that more often than not would compel you with such an urge to lift your own lips. The authentic smile, on the little girl, just being out in the daytime, playing ever so carelessly. 
 
 
 My beloved readers, I would like to bid you a sincere farewell. This last post will not include an uplifting snippet or a beautiful woman breaming with a smile. Instead I leave you to the truth and to question if in fact, life is even worth living in this faux iridescent world. And whether or not you have the fortitude to continue on... 
 As I have found that I do not. 
 
 Forever Gracious, 
 Flynn.
