Without a Light

        Morbid Mike—my wife and daughter have called me that since the invention of dirt, because it’s true. I don’t mind the darkness; it’s where I spend most of my time. Nothing wrong with that, I figure, since life is more peaceful and quiet when the sun don’t shine. Give folks a little bit of light and they wreak havoc. Blow out the candle, they run and hide, which opens a lot of space for those of us who don’t mind sharing, but who prefer to spend time alone.
        Depression? No, that’s a whole other disease that afflicts too many of my friends, and too many people I used to know, but who no longer walk the Earth. The darkness I embrace is not sadness, self-pity, or denial. My darkness is the opposite, is positive acceptance that some of the nastiest shit I could ever imagine and think is really happening right now on the planet.
        People kill each other, no matter the age of their prey, and too often because of race, creed, or religion. People nonchalantly kill animals, sometimes for sport, too often out of sheer cruelty, or for the promise of money. For some people, killing is a thrill. Somewhere along our timeline, we got an idea to rationalize killing as justice.
        But the darkest thought of all is that the idea of killing is alive and well in all of us. Who among us has never harbored an idea of what it means to kill? Who among us is honest enough to admit it? The seed needs only the light of day and particular circumstances to become real for any of us.
        A coyote nabs our chickens, so we kill it. A shark gets too near our boat, so we kill it. A tree mucks up the view from our living room, so we kill it.
        We kill for only one reason: fear, What is it that we fear?
        Darkness.