DYING LIGHT

The room smelled of hot wax and dust. The candle on the wall had burned low, its weak flame flickering like the last pulse of a dying heart. Shadows crawled along the cracked walls, stretching like skeletal fingers, retreating, then creeping back again.

​

Jason sat on the edge of his bed, the old mattress sagging under his weight. The lyrics he had tried to write lay crumpled on the floor, scattered like dead leaves. His guitar leaned against the nightstand, untouched, the strings gathering dust.

​

The world outside was silent. No traffic, no laughter from the bar down the street, no hum of the city. Just the slow, rhythmic ticking of the clock, reminding him that time still moved even when he no longer wanted it to.

​

He had made this cell. Built it with regrets, locked it with despair. Once, music had been his lifeline. Now, even that had abandoned him.

​

His eyes drifted to the candle again, hypnotized by the way its light wavered, struggling, fighting. Just like he had—for years. But a fight that never ends isn’t a fight. It’s torture.

​

He reached for the notebook on his nightstand, fingers trembling. He knew what he needed to write. The final words. Not for a song. Not for the fans who had long since forgotten his name. Just a note. A whisper on paper before he stepped into the silence forever.

​

He pressed the pen to the page. The ink pooled, but no words came.

​

The shadows shifted again.

​

A chill ran up his spine. It wasn’t the usual creeping cold of loneliness. This was different. Heavy. Thick. The room felt smaller. The air felt tight.

​

He turned his head slowly.

​

The darkness in the corner of the room wasn’t just a shadow anymore. It had depth. Movement. It was watching him.

​

Jason swallowed hard.

​

He had been alone for so long. But now, something was here.

​

The candlelight flickered, weaker now. The shadow stretched toward him.

​

A whisper. Soft. Just behind his ear.

​

"Time’s up."

​

Jason’s pulse pounded.

​

He shot to his feet, knocking over the nightstand. A glass of whiskey shattered against the floor.

​

The shadow loomed larger. Taller.

​

The candle was dying.

​

He stumbled back, heart hammering. “No,” he whispered.

​

The darkness surged.

​

Jason felt it wrap around his neck, cold and suffocating. His knees buckled.

​

He couldn’t breathe.

​

Somewhere, in the drowning void, a voice whispered again—this time inside his own head.

​

"You built this cell. You locked yourself in. And now… you don’t get to leave."

​

The candle gave one final flicker. Then, it went out.

​

And so did Jason.

 

-Mark Gammill

​

​

​

Dying Light

​

Verse 1

Unbendable bars

dim and falling stars

isolation kills 

better where you are

words of a new song

lie crumpled on the floor

unable to find the strength

to write of this no more.

​

Verse 2

A candle on the wall

begging more and more for life

losing its steady burn

losing its winless fight

dark shadows move across the room

knowing that its time

the end of all, the war of it

never will I find.

​

Chorus

Dying light, dying light

I'm losing all the will to fight

dying light, dying light

only darkness and the night.

​

Verse 3

In a cell of my own making

having lost the will to fight

now thinking of the final words

I know I need to write.

​

- Mark Gammill