In The Lap of The Darkness

   The sun was beginning to set—sinking behind the hills, dipping into the depths of the ocean, and vanishing behind the shadows of rising waves—when he stood up and began to climb the mountain.

Leaning on a stick for support, he ascended steadily, wrapping himself in the cloak of elevation. With every step, he moved closer to the peak—closer to peace, and farther from the noise, conflict, and restlessness of the human world. All his senses were alive. His eyes captured every detail: the tall, unmoving trees; the swinging branches that danced like the ringlets of a beloved. They beckoned him upward, whispering encouragement, telling him not to look back.

Halfway to the summit, he paused to rest, gathering strength for the next stretch. As he resumed climbing, the sun had already begun its slow descent. The light turned golden, brushing the trees with a soft glow. He could stare at the sun now without being blinded—it felt like a farewell. And when it finally disappeared behind the mountains, night quickly unfurled its curtain. The last traces of light vanished. The birds returned to their nests, their chirps sounding less like songs and more like warnings.

The once-white clouds turned dark, rolling in heavy with thunder and flashes of lightning—each strike revealing for a moment what looked to him like the grinning face of a devil.

But he kept climbing.

Though he could no longer see his own hand, something at the top pulled him—a strange magnetism, as if a silent host waited above, calling him to join a feast. The thought of it grew louder in his mind, and he pressed on.

Then, suddenly, one foot slipped.

And everything went black.

When he awoke, he found himself lying in a grave-shaped pit, four or five feet deep. A giant snake sat near his feet, hissing and ready to strike. A scorpion crept toward his hand, sting raised. Around him, other strange insects moved, some crawling, others ready to leap.

Paralyzed, he tried to move but couldn’t. Panic surged through him. His limbs were frozen, his mouth sealed, his lips pressed tightly together—like two lovers locked in an eternal embrace after death. Even his eyes remained shut, heavy as stone. And yet he summoned all his strength, trying to open even a single eyelid, to move even a single lash.

He failed.

Desperation turned into dread. He tried to calm himself and focus, hoping to understand where he was. Gradually, a few details emerged: he was wrapped in an unstitched cotton cloth, covered in several layers of stone slabs. Buried. Trapped. Entombed.

As his mind raced, he suddenly heard a soft rustling—something thrown over him. Then, faint footsteps moved away, fading into silence. He strained to listen, heart pounding. His body trembled. The questions exploded within him:

“What is this? Where am I? I was climbing—so how did I end up here? Who brought me down from the mountain? How long will I stay like this? What happened to me? Why? Why? Why?”

Then, just as his mind teetered on the edge of chaos, a single word echoed from above—

“Amen.”

And in that chilling moment, his entire being shuddered.

He whispered to himself:

“Have I… died?”