It wasn't dark yet. Not where he was, anyway. Not in the bustling city, that was like all the other bustling cities in the world.
He was not a man in the sense of other men. He was a child inside, one that had aged four hundred years to look just over thirty. One that hadn't left the large warehouse of his captivity while the sun was out since the day he became the not-man he was. That was so very long ago, back in a time where the world was just as complicated, and the cities just as bustling.
Afternoon optimism taunted him from the small window in his cage of a room. There was an entire beam of light splitting the cold place in half, trapping him to one side, the side with the ever padlocked door, until the golden orb sailed below the earth, and he was free to go where he pleased, which was usually just to the window.
But it wasn't dark yet. He had waited for the courage to say this to himself. "It's not dark yet," the not-man whispered in a voice that was gravelly with disuse, but soft with fear, "and I want to go outside."
That was all it took. The padlock was dust in mere seconds, and the door opened quickly and forcefully. No time for regrets, no time for remembering past instances where he got as far as the handle and then wept with shame.
No time.
There was a hallway now, and more windows. Like small warnings, the soft rays of light blistered his skin. He slowed and finally stopped halfway down the long corridor, reaching barely into the blaze with the tips of his fingers. They promptly sizzled and turned a dark gray before falling as ash to the floor. There was no time to be horrified, so instead he was comforted. He had felt fire now, something so much more intense than the ice that occupied his soul, or lack of one. He was now addicted to this pain that brought him relief.
A few more steps brought him to the final door, and now there really was no time. He turned back around and leaned against the frame, feeling the metal against his shoulders. He brought his gaze to the ceiling, and wasn't sure where the wall ended and it began. There were no windows farther up the wall than his eye level, and darkness completely enveloped the corners of the hall. There were no endings here, no life and no death. Only vague shadows of what once was, and he so desperately wanted to see an end, something that proved he had even been there at all. Nothing proves that a man, even a not-man, lived better than their death. He closed his eyes and whispered a goodbye to the cage before quickly opening them again and turning towards the door. It wasn't dark yet, and there would be no darkness anymore. He would see the blue sky as it cremated him. There was no time for fear, so he simply opened the door.
The flames kissed his face and he felt the sun, felt the warmth of its power hold him close and forever. He would die in this sun, he thought. He would die in this sun and he would feel so hopelessly alive as he was doing it.
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