Nocturnal Horror

My mother tells me I narrowly escaped death during birth. The hospital’s power supply inexplicably switched off, and the doctors panicked. When the lights came on, they had a baby in their hands, blinking to adjust to the bright theatre lights.

They declared me a miracle.

But it did nothing to prevent future woes. I struggle during sunset hours to keep fear at bay. I feel like an ocean of darkness would swallow me in its depths forever.

I feel compelled to keep all artificial lights turned on to cover the uncertainty imprinted on my subconscious.

I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones, but for that momentary forgotten discomfort of stepping into an unknown ebony world outside the warmth of my mother’s womb.

It was also the stygian moment that separated me from my twin forever. He failed to survive.


Prosery at dVerse

30 thoughts on “Nocturnal Horror

  1. This is so raw, poetic, and profoundly moving. The contrast between the bright theatre lights and the looming fear of darkness carries such emotional weight. The memory of your twin lingers quietly in every line, and it’s impossible not to feel that ache with you.
    Your words speak of survival, loss, and a haunting kind of resilience, one that doesn’t seek attention but simply is. Thank you for sharing this part of your world with such grace.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I also struggle with dim or no lighting in most cases. I believe it’s “light therapy” when you use lights as a security blanket. Very intriguing story! 🖤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Your nocturnal horror gave me the chills, Reena! I would have panicked if there had been a power cut when my daughter was born, although I love the image of the baby ‘blinking to adjust to the bright theatre lights’. But poor child, growing up struggling with fear and feeling ‘like an ocean of darkness would swallow [her] in its depths forever’. The twist at the end was unexpected.

    Liked by 1 person

          1. Very true my friend. My mom passed away at age 26, and her parents- my nana and Nani lived well into their 80s. They never talked about her- perhaps their grief was still present.

            Liked by 1 person

Leave a reply to Reena Saxena Cancel reply