by Carole Cobos

Carole Cobos (she/her) is a freshman English Major at Rider University. She has a strong interest in writing, editing, and publishing stories that encourage love and raise awareness. Carole particularly enjoys writing about culture and love: familial, romantic, platonic, etc. She spends an excessive amount of time reading Pablo Neruda’s poetry and praising Taylor Swift’s story-telling ability.

Hello Reader! Allow me to tell you the story of Night and Day, two halves of a whole. Bound by something greater than love, friendship or family. Something with no beginning, something with no end. Something with no name.

Now, play close attention to the story, Reader. It is short but every word counts. Day and Night coexisted long before Day had realized how utterly lovely Night’s stars were. So bright, glimmering pinpricks of gentle light amidst velvet darkness. Day was so enchanted that he plucked one for himself. Oh, and how he loved that gentle light. He cherished it above all else, placed it beside him and they shone together. It made for a striking look in the morning, a brilliant star dangling over a softly rising sun. Night was there too, lingering to watch, but being ultimately ushered away by Day. Night left, a star lost.

Day was so taken with the star, with its soothing beauty, that he took another one. Day noticed that Night had been watching as he had taken another star. He looked, trying to gauge Night’s reaction, holding the newly acquired star tightly.

Night stayed silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, trapped in an internal debate, and then said, belatedly, “What?”

As if Night was asking, What are you looking at me for?

At least, Reader, that’s how Day took it. Day grew more confident and simply smiled, brightly, shamelessly, “Nothing!”

The following visit he took another one. And then another. And then another.

He plucked them from the night sky and happily arranged them around him.

Night had watched him quietly, but did not utter a word in protest. At least, not until he tried to form a constellation with the stars he had taken.

“That’s mine,” Night had protested, sharply and suddenly. “That’s, that’s mine.” Day was not impressed by that objection. What’s the harm? Is Night really going to pick a fuss over a constellation of all things?

He said as much, “It’s just a constellation, Night. Don’t be selfish.”

Night turned away without a word more, leaving Day to form his own constellation. And despite the newly applied constellation beside the sun, it went unobserved and unappreciated in the day. All that changed was that the days dragged longer and the nights passed quicker.

For a short while, the people on Earth celebrated and threw kisses up to Day. The Day beamed all the brighter. He turned to Night and gloated, “See how they love me? See how they send me kisses?”

Night did not speak a word in reply, but the silence should have spoken volumes. Unfortunately for Night, Reader, Day was not known for keen observation and went on to bask in the affections laved upon him. It lasted him a short while, a decade or so for you, Reader, but akin to the blink of an eye for Day.

At this point, Night was a mere shadow, a passing reprieve, and Day was almost always. The people of Earth had hid away by then, retreating into their homes miserably. They grew irritable, they spoke in reverent reminiscent tones of when there was a gentle night that embraced and let them rest.

Can you imagine, Reader? To live in Day, and never have a Night that would guide you to bed and tell you to rest? Can you imagine how miserable you would be? Wouldn’t that drive you mad?

Then you can imagine how those inhabitants of Earth felt.

Their grumblings did not please the already weary Day, ragged from constant expectation and shining. It aggravated him. He turned to Night, turned on Night, turned in an outburst so violent and explosive, that Night couldn’t help but flinch. Day turned to Night and said, “How come you are not splitting the work evenly with me? I’m tired of such relentless responsibility.” Oh Reader, Night did not like that one bit.

Night, who had once been so magnificent. Night, who had once been at peace. Night, who had once been content. That Night, that very same Night, turned to Day and snarled, “How am I to be upon the world if you had taken the light that bound my darkness together?”

Day understood then the gravity of what he had done, what exactly he had taken. Too late, for sure, but alas. He responded, unapologetically, unaware. “You should have told me to leave your stars alone.”

“And you should have asked,” Night snaps back. “You’ve ignored me since the beginning of time and only turned to me when I had something you wanted. Then you stole from me. You stole what was mine and you didn’t even care that my glowing stars were lost in your harsh unforgiving rays. I should have said ‘no’, I should have stopped you, and I resent that I felt that I would be burdensome to you. I, I should have done a great deal of things to protect myself, but the fact is, Day, you should have never stolen from me in the first place.”

Day looked upon Night, feeling his indignance dampen and grow heavy within him. It became something else, something new. Something alien.

Day suddenly felt as if his light was too bright, too upsetting. He suddenly felt as if the world had crushed down on him and kept him from speaking. He suddenly felt small, and at the same time so horribly, obtrusively big.

He looked to Night, who was tattered and nearly translucent and said, still selfish but learning, “I don’t feel good. I feel…”

Night looked at him, before saying softly, “You feel Shame. You are embarrassed that you hurt me. It upsets you.”

“You know that sensation well?”

“I feel it all the time.”

“But Night, you’ve never done me any wrong.”

Night laughs, it’s a tired laugh but it’s the first time Day ever heard any laugh besides his own. It’s lovely, and he wishes he had made an effort to hear it before.

The laughter trails off, curling around like stardust, like magic. Night then says, “I’m afraid that Shame is a condition of my existence.”

And Day felt the terrible feeling of Shame spread through him.

“Is that my fault too?”

“Not you entirely. You’re just Day. It’s bigger than us both.”

“I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Night sighs, “I’m already hurt, Day. Just don’t hurt me anymore. Then, if you’re lucky, you wont feel like this anymore.”

“I won’t hurt you anymore,” he promises. “I’m sorry.”

Night didn’t say a word, but somehow still managed to sound skeptical. Eager to prove himself, Day reached around him and gently gathered the beautiful stars and set about returning them to where they belonged.

“I know this won’t undo the damage, but I swear to consider you onwards. I swear to return your gentle goodwill.”

“To the future then,” and Night did sound a little more cheerful.

Day could not enjoy it too much though. He was a little confused. “If you’re Night and I’m Day then who’s The Future?”

Night glimmered, “That’s us. Together.”

Day beamed softly, careful of his overwhelming rays, “I see.” Silence stretched and before they could go their separate ways once more, Day said, quickly, urgently, “I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

“Me too.”

Day said, again, because it was important that Night knew he wasn’t malicious. It was important for Night to feel safe. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize. I didn’t think. I’m not trying to redeem myself but I swear I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, I know, Day,” and Night did sound understanding, comforting. “No one has taught you to consider Night. It’s alright.”

“But you’ve never treated me in such a way.” How can Night forgive Day when Night has never done anything to deserve his accidental brutality? Was Day just born selfish? Was Night born surrendering? As if knowing his mind, Night answered, “Well, all I’ve been taught was to consider Day. I suppose we’ve both been ruined just a bit.”

“But we know better now,” Day offered hopefully. “I won’t hurt you and if I do, in any capacity, you won’t let me, right? And then we’ll stop feeling Shame?”

Night descended upon Day in a flurry of darkness and embraced him. That, sweet Reader, was the first ever eclipse.

Night’s velvet darkness covered the Earth and soothed the Day. Like Day, she was necessary, and has existed unappreciated for so long. But now she was back, and she was full of love and hope and she was embracing Day and maybe things would change from them on.

Hopefully. What do you think, Reader? Do you think so? You do, don’t you? They’re just children, you know. Their time is yet young. The little people on Earth looked in, and cringed, and cheered, and all they saw was a total eclipse. A ring of stardust surrounding the long forgotten moon and marking the brilliant revival of Night.