The Sun is bleeding. Red light pours from it, saturating the sky and manipulating the color into a gruesome red-orange. Painting the evening with color and warmth with its dying breath. Shadows lengthen, consuming the earth with their hungry claws, claiming what the Sun leaves behind, chilling the Earth. And though it is now gone, I can still see it’s light, giving birth to dusk, and dusk giving birth to night. I shiver in the cold, aching for a morsel of warmth, silently begging the Sun to return. But I know that it is hopeless. The Sun must go away for the night, leaving me to my dreams, however gruesome or delightful they may be. My only comfort is that it will come again, and that the shadows will shrink in fear, that the will hide behind me until the day is done. I give a small smile. Shadows are cowards, I think to myself. They only hide behind us and wait until the Sun is completely gone before they cover the world. They are not in control, and they are behind us all, not in front. They can do nothing alone and they must go where we go. They are powerless. With these thoughts in mind, I fall asleep. That night, I dream of a man of shadows, strutting around the world like a rooster. In the middle of his parade, the Sun, now a man, rises from the horizon. The shadow man screams and covers his face. The Sun approaches me and the shadow man cowers behind me and whispers in my ear to run, to run into the darkness. But instead, I approach the Sun. He opens his arms and embraces me as the shadow man screams again, then he is no more. For where the Sun is, there can be no darkness, and I am with him. In my sleep, I smile and the sun rises.