Darkness Falls on an ever cliche`d melancholia and an author who discovers trouble trying to use the proper mechanics.

"It's hard to see out here," he says, shielding his eyes from the incessant glare of the moon.

"Are you sure it's okay to use this guy's pool?" were the last words he'd uttered before slipping into the deep end, discovering his lack of buoyancy too late and plunging beneath the surface of murky chlorinated soup, causing leaves and algae to roil ominously about the bubbles of his breath as it escaped without him.

"This work will never be finished, will it?" you asked as his taillights faded and the celluloid started to melt.

Want to comment on this Prose? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Prose and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...