Wings

Kept in the dark.

As an ardent supporter of local literature, the highlight of the weekend was finding the time to finish Colin Cheong's The Stolen Child. I always manage to make a connection with his books and there is something in his writing that draws out that bit of my past that I sometimes find embarrassing or which I had buried deep down in my subconscious, be it a crush or an insecurity.

"The night was inviting. Wings had been afraid of the dark when he was younger, but now, the night was his friend and he welcomed it. He savored the solitude it brought, when he could walk abroad in his imagination. The darkness was another world when the light left and when reality was left unlit, things that hurt could not be seen. It did not matter if they were there. They could be forgotten for a time. When had he discovered that? The night like a dark movie theater, a blackened silver screen for him to run the home movies he made in his head on. That special hour or so before sleep came, the grey zone between waking reality and the dream time he had no control of. He waited for those hours of the half-light, when daylight, neon-light met the night and died in her arms. Those dying moments where what he lived for."