The Ghetto

---

---

---

---

The sky grumbled, growling unruly and casting small shimmers of light. The last remnants of the storm still rolled and groaned on, it's friction giving illumination to an otherwise deepest of night. Each flash of lightning, no matter how small, brought shape to the massive silhouette of what was otherwise the Lightless City. Or at least, that was the only name it could be given. Here, in the shade of decrepit buildings and rusted shanties, no light ever shined for long from the Daylight People. From the glowing orbs atop their massive placements or along their towering walls, who appeared to guard every street and path with their halos of illumination, they had long since lost their life. No safety did they offer the Daylight people anymore, only hollow husks or broken shards of ever-crunchy glass, serving no other purpose than to cut at hand and foot.

The lights were all gone, having fallen to the ground and become many. And it did not matter if the many were ever brought back together, they could never be whole again. Trying again and again, only to relearn each and every night. It does not matter how perfect these tiny, crunchy pieces fit together. The fallen ones could never come back. Spindly fingers working unseen, stubborn of the lesson only finally to submit and abandon the crunchy glass to it's fate of being many. White eyes on a face of nothing looked up, seeing the ghost of where the light once shined. Were it anywhere else, the Daylight people would let a new light be born in that place, but for some strange reason never here. Never in this city. Another roll of thunder, the punctual lightning gave light, and that light briefly gave form to the formless. Only a mere flicker, and that light too was gone. Leaving behind only the shadows to flick and flutter in the darkness.

It was always a cold warmth to feel everything, to go anywhere the dark touched and be in it's lifeless care. For all the city could it touch. For all the city could it see. For all the city could it be. For all the city, it was there. Soulless, soundless the alleys and streets where it crept and flitted, whether in shadows great or small, almost soaring high or slithering ever low. Surging through emptiness, looking for.... What was it looking for? Was there anything to be found? No.... there was. Light and warmth, but never it's own. It became whole just beyond the looking glass, it's inky digits lightly clinging to the window frame. Behind the cold, not-yet-crunchy glass, a small flame fought for life just as the large people within bundled for warmth. Wrapped in cloth and each other's protective embrace, they lay with closed eyes in the glinting, dying light of the tiny flame. Yet, they looked so comfortable. They did not share in the company of shadows, but rather that of each other. Never flinching and never shirking of the flicker-lights which gently bathed them.

It had seen this a thousand times before, yet always watched intently as if for the first time. Was it jealous? The dark had always embraced it, closer than any Daylight person ever could. It had kept it warm and safe. The shadows were always there. Always waiting to accept it back happily with open arms. And yet, it stilled watched as the Daylight people slept. Wanting what they had, but not sure of what that was. If only it could get closer... No. The night was fleeing the sky, and the suns first kiss upon the world had made a slowly growing barrier between the Lurker and the window. As it always did, separating the shadows from the light. Though the ray of light was not a needed reminder. No wall or glass could ever bar it from them, yet it was never the distance which kept the little shadow outside. Even if the shapeless shadow were to walk right through these walls and sit before them, ever silent and ever watching, it would still be a world apart.

So it crept back to the arms that waited to greet it, to hold and cradle it, and to bring it back home. As it always had. As it always would. Slinking back into the Forever Dark deep below, away from the world above, which again became one no longer it's own.

A call echoed through the dark. A call that made no sound, and reached no ears. A call only the dark could answer, and it replied in the same silence. Never any sound did it make, or any warmth did it give. Only cold. Only Quiet. The little shadow always felt this darkness was where it was meant to be. Then why was there such longing for the world beyond? Why did the Daylight World hold such interest if it was not meant be seen? Did this darkness truly give it a home, or merely a place of holding? ....Did the dark truly care for it?

No.... No, of course it did. It always has, and always will. These bottomless shadows will always open there arms for one of their own. That is why this shadowling knew they'd wait for it. The surface beckoned, as it always had before. Promising sights to see, sounds to hear, and of course, the Daylight people. Up it climbed, skittered, and flew. Up higher still, passing through old stone bones and metal veins. Up through the sky of one world, and the floor of the next.

Across it's ceiling it searched. Scurrying and scanning, looking for.... Aha! The shallow spot where shadow touches shadow, a door to the outside. The surface air felt warm, inviting to those foreign to it's touch. With little trouble did the two black hands push through, bringing with them a head, body, and two spindly legs. The noise was always the first thing to be noticed. So silent was the night, yet now the air lived and breathed. The sun was still in it's infancy in the sky above, but it's touch still left pain and tingling.

Just as the glow orbs had made small sanctuaries in the night for the Daylight people, so too did these old carcasses of buildings cast long pools of shadow for the Lurker. In these places, no one lived. Save maybe for the odd dancing ghost of falling dust and cobwebs, visible only in the light of decrepit windows. Maybe that is why they were so different. Maybe the light shows too much?

....Or does the dark show too little?

Through dead halls, along rotting walls, careful not to fall. The shadowling was a spirit in it's own right, glimpsed best from the corner of one's eye, and gone once given full attention. It watched the streets below slowly grow clustered with the waking crowds. Why, it often wondered, did these light-dwellers look so different from those beyond the rusted walls? Outside this place, where lights still shined in the night? The question lingered only for a moment, and was then gone. It liked the people here. All different. Rarely ever boring like those outside. Though when they all look so interesting, how then does one choose who to follow?