The black.
The black is progress.
The black is achievement and victory.
The black is honor and greatness and exploration.
The black is none of these.
The black is empty.
The black is loneliness.
The black is sheer and unabated nothingness.
But still we venture on.
The black draws us in.
The black invites us, urging us toward our next goal.
Our next destination.
But the black is danger.
The black is horror.
The black is pure terror, a void made of human fear.
The black is unavoidable, unforgiving, unwelcoming.
The black is death.
Death of the most lonely kind.
Void filling lonely lungs and death filling lonely void.
But even still, we venture on.
Into what?
What awaits?
What will we find?
Progress?
Achievement?
Honor?
Danger?
Horror?
Terror?
Nothing?
No.
We find the black.
And the black
finds us.