Hey, look! An actual story!
Or, a more appropriately, a sketch.
I was going through some files on my computer, and I found this. The story attached to this sketch has been kicking around my head for a couple of years, and I’m not sure if, or what will come of it.
But I enjoyed this, and wanted to share that yes, I am doing fiction. Occasionally. Rarely.
Um, yeah. Enjoy.
Ion hated the night.
It wasn’t that he was afraid—truth be told, things that went bump in the night were afraid of him, but still he hated the night.
He hated the darkness, the stillness broken by the sounds of rats and raccoons going about their business. He hated the light that men wrapped themselves in, their forced cheeriness and laughter.
Night was a time when men were supposed to be afraid.
It was night when Ion died the first time.
Mr. Edison’s electric lights kept the night at bay in these modern cities. Ion could not decide if he approved or not.
He could always go back to the primeval villages.
Where things like him will still expected, and still feared.
So…who’s interested in Ion? Is this story worth continuing?