At Dark, I Become Loathsome

by Eric LaRocca

At night, I become guilty of crimes I haven’t committed, much less even contemplated. I become a caricature of my former self—a creature to be persecuted, loathed, reviled, detested. At nighttime, I’m something to be tortured until condemned—someone completely and forever misunderstood.

But though humanity doesn’t escape us when it’s dark out, I’ve learned that human decency only exists when it’s convenient.

It was dark when they took him and has been dark ever since.

That’s when the little girl finally answered. “Heaven is a dark room,” she said. “There’s nothing for us there.”

It’s funny how horrible news you half expect can still decimate you, as if you weren’t at all prepared for such dreadfulness.