As though waking, the teacher’s eyes suddenly came back to the empty desks and quiet room. Light and shadow; the warm evening light fell onto the scene with all the heartrending power of a fairytale, but it was a passing light. Darkness was in the far corner, a shadow his eyes could not plumb. He knew it was growing; felt the darkness’s horrible patience. It was filling the space the weary sun could no longer hold, spreading, crawling, conquering one tile, one chair, one desk at a time. Here was fairytale’s unspoken beauty, the eternal giving of light and shadow.
At the End of the Day
Tale Told 