I grew used to the darkness—both literal and figurative. The absence of light is something you learn to live with. The darkness that builds inside oneself, the same that can be found in other people; that one is a different beast. It is a danger you should all be afraid of, for once you fall for it, there's a second and third time. It's a mistake that you don't learn from. It took me years to recognize it, and still today, I sometimes fail.
I lift the fountain pen from the paper as my mind traces back to those times. Light, food, water, those things I could make without. I’m sure I was in the bones, malnourished and dehydrated. If anyone saw me, they could have thought I was a walking corpse. If anybody… I was not in my right mind.
With a sigh, uncontrollable and untamed, I make the fountain pen reach for the paper, wild ivy green Ink spreading through the fibres. A deluge of memories assaults me as I let them bring me back to other, darker times.
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Her watery eyes remained lost in the distance. What was she thinking of? Possibilities, different futures, what-ifs. Her mouth made a gesture as if it was about to speak. It was dry, her lips cut at places.
It was not cold, down here in the sewers we always had a mild temperature. What we lacked was health. Potable water was nonexistent, and the hardships we had to go through to obtain a few grains of rice were barely worth the risks. Her face reflected all of it.
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“You must always remember,” her broken voice finally found its way after coughing and spluttering for a while. “Never, no matter what, must you show it.”
It. There is no need to say what it is, there is only one it that would make sense here. I lowered my sight until my left ankle came into the picture. I couldn’t see it, the scraps of cloth I affectionately called sock carefully hid it.
“Go! Run! You can’t stay here!” I saw how her last life essence threatened to leave through those words. Why can't I be with you anymore? I thought. I am happy down here! I don't mind being poor. I don't mind the hunger!
Sounds came from afar, our pursuers were hot on our trail. We didn’t have much time, they were there to collect a debt of Ink, and they would get it at all costs.
Ink. Ink rules our lives. I turned my wrist and observed the line tattooed just below my wrist. The Line of Life they called it. All your actions, walking, talking, breathing, and even sleeping consumed the Line. Extending your Line was possible, or so they said, for only rich people could hire an Inker.
Her eyes, all remainder of tears gone, half-closed. She made a visible effort to stay conscious, but her body wouldn’t budge. “Be-”, she inhaled with hardships, “-happy.” Her arm dropped to the ground, revealing her Line. Barely a dot, it was disappearing at a frightening speed.
Mother... Turning a blind eye to the thoughts racing through my mind, to the primal instinct screaming for me to stay, I slipped away through the conduct. I will honor you. I will live a full life. I’ll find success and riches. I won’t fail you, mother.