Dark - S

"If I give it to you," Elias asked, his voice trembling, "does the sun come back?"

Elias sat at the far end of the counter, his fingers tracing the deep gouges in the Formica. He wasn't waiting for food; he was waiting for the static. It started as a low hum in his teeth, a vibration that signaled the city was about to "slip." "He’s late," a voice rasped. dark s

Elias didn't turn. The waitress, Martha—or whatever was wearing Martha’s skin tonight—was wiping the same spot on the counter for the third hour. Her eyes were solid matte black, reflecting no light from the buzzing tubes above. "If I give it to you," Elias asked,

Elias let go. The sphere didn't fall; it expanded. The diner, Martha, and the neon sign were swallowed in an instant. There was no pain—only the feeling of a long-held breath finally being released into the infinite, velvet quiet of the Dark S. Elias didn't turn

"Elias," the figure breathed, and the temperature in the room dropped until the coffee froze in its pot. "You held the line long enough. Give it back."

A figure stepped in, draped in a coat that seemed to be made of woven smoke. Where a face should have been, there was only a shimmering, violet "S" carved into the dark, pulsing like a dying star.