This dark

The dark tonight is strange. It is heavy... ominous, oppressive, overwhelming. There is a depth to it, an intensity that elicits a visceral response. I drove home tonight with my shoulders hunched, as if the weight of that black sky slid through the metal body of my car to press upon me. I feel a feral fear, an apprehension with no logic, a tightness in my muscles... a need to run from this inky harbinger of unknown calamity. The city must feel it, too. Its light, from motley lamps, orange, amber, pink... it strains to take to the sky. It is inhibited and small against the immensity of murk, and human eyes struggle to cope. What is it that makes this night so exceptional, harrowing, yet weirdly invigorating? Where has that incredible void come from, like some somber black hole, quietly sucking the light and civility from mankind? These words almost come born of a subliminal need to maintain intellectuality, while deep within I hear the desire of instinct to take hold. Will I maintain my humanity 'til morning? Or will the dawn find me wild with the madness of this dark?