A silent black walk stretched on forever, trailing off into the furthest reaches of the night. He kicked a pebble as he walked, partly to occupy his mind and partly to fill the quiet path with a little noise. The pale, fading moon cast a glimmer of a reflection in the narrow waterway beside him. The water was almost as shadowy as the night sky. He was sure he would get lost in the water, so thick, so dark. Everything was a shade of grey or blue without the streetlights. They had burnt out long ago, perhaps before he was born.

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The sun was extinguished; a pale imitator took its place in the now darkened sky. A man was standing next to the oil slick river, just outside the reach of the light - the false light that came from a lamppost. His white t-shirt was now grey, transformed by the twisting, winding shadows. The shadows devoured the man, attempting to smother, to suffocate him. He didn't notice he was being attacked, killed by the shadow-child. He appeared almost disembodied, his black pants blended in with the darkened river. He stood, his eyes swimming in the thick current. Then there was movement; so slow and so quick it was impossible to tell what happened. And the body slowly sunk to the bottom.

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The filtered light outlined his drawn face. His whole visage seemed to be pulled strongly earthward and his dark clothes appeared to be held together by the slightest threads. His feet barely rose when he walked and he always appeared on the verge of falling over his feet. Night had thrown all its weight upon him and he navigated the cobbled streets as if through some sad remembrance. The scattered streetlights were burnt out and stood as muted sentinels. The murky river softly passed by and he turned his head occasionally to watch the swirling currents. His eyes drifted as if trying to recall whether he was still alive, or if he had dreamt the past forty-three years. Eventually his feet came even with the bank of the river and a streetlight overhead flickered and then died out with the rest.