Jia Parikh, journalist

Pitch black.
I can’t see,
But they can.
They tell me they’ll lead me to the light.
I listen,
They guide me,
Soothing me as I walk slowly.
I stop being cautious.
I give them my
We are close,
I hear them tell me.
I feel the wind on my face,
I squint as my eyes adjust
To the light.
But then it is gone.
I hear a door close,
Distant laughing,
A click.
I call for them,
They don’t respond.
I can’t see,
Alone in a room that’s
Pitch black.