“Yes, I’m afraid of the dark.”
This fear of the darkness that death brought was the true nature of his statement. Death was easy; darkness, now that was too much.
Freakishly aware while in womb, he remembered still how his life began in darkness. The constant dull rhythmic thuds, ghostly mumbles and faint classical music playing from pianos unseen–these memories were the seeds planted deeply into his being by a loving mother. His first audible cries were not those of joyous birth but rather of true horror: from within the blackness unseen forces pushed– or did they pull?– him into the light, where air burned lungs and touches made him scream white hot.
Darkness made him feel like a baby all over again, and he never forgave her for this.
On his 23rd birthday she died in a plane crash while en route to New York to spend his birthday with him.
At the funeral he danced internally with glee as they lowered her into the darkness for eternity.