Sightless

The flame on our last candle is flickering. Soon, we will die a terrible death. Those things—we call them the Sightless—have our makeshift shelter surrounded. A terrible darkness is creeping in. A darkness that feels alive, a darkness where even nightmares would fear to go. 

Frank is the only one to ever see the Sightless and survive.

“Teeth. So many teeth.”

That’s all he would say, over and over. He never gave us anything more. No shape. No color. Just teeth. We don’t know what exactly lives in the darkness, but we know it brings certain death. 

Two days after Frank’s encounter, Gabby woke to find him dead. His skin had turned dark blue, a side effect from the illegal off-brand suicide pills we purchased before the start of this forsaken mission. The orange bottle was still in his hand, with a single plain blue pill inside. 

Frank took seven. There were eight of us to start.

Gabby and I are all that’s left. There’s no contact with the outside world; the electrical was fried completely the second we “landed.” The dark here feels like a living being. As the candle flickers, shadows pulse and dance around the room, giving the feeling that the darkness is breathing. The darkness here wasn’t born from the absence of light—light was created so that places like this couldn’t exist. Hell would be a welcome sight compared to here. 

We have at most 20 minutes left to live. 

“Elias, we need to decide which of us is going to take the pill,” Gabby said to me, breaking the silence that had swallowed us whole. 

“Just take it.” I said, taking the bottle from my pocket and dropping the blue pill into Gabby’s hand. “I promised Derek I would look after you, didn’t I?”

Gabby launched her arms around me and sobbed. I didn’t react; my eyes were glued to the flickering flame in front of me. 

“I miss him so much,” she said between sobs. “You were a great friend. I know he would appreciate what you are doing. I know I do. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gabs. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers, assuming I was talking about when Derek died. She thinks I’m apologizing for not saving him. I could have, but it was too risky. I was afraid. I couldn’t move. I was a coward.

No, I wasn’t apologizing for letting Derek die—because I did. I was apologizing for the blue marker coming off on Gabby’s fingers. Apologizing for the smooth pebble in her hand. Apologizing for the pill I took five minutes ago. Apologizing for the horror I condemned her to. Apologizing for breaking my promise. Apologizing for being a coward—again.