The Longest Night #8

A large city—not the largest metropolis but far from a small town. Not the richest, but by no means poor. It has all the features of a bustling urban center: cafés, restaurants, universities, factories, beautiful parks, comfortable neighborhoods, and a cozy suburban area. Life hums along, people go about their routines, and everything repeats day after day—until one fateful night.

At first, it seemed like nothing was amiss, though faint rumors of impending troubles had begun to circulate. Still, people carried on with their comfortable lives, never imagining that something could shatter their equilibrium. That night, everyone went to bed as usual. But when alarms rang the next morning and people rose to face the day, the world outside their windows was still cloaked in night.

How do you describe the feeling of seeing something utterly impossible, something that defies logic? Shock? Fear? No—more like paralysis and incomprehension. Calls to family and friends began, as people tried to make sense of the situation. But no one knew anything. This was new to everyone.

Yet, the darkness wasn’t everywhere. Beyond the city, morning had come as it always did. Some tried to flee the city, but that option was soon closed—for economic reasons. The city still housed critical industries essential to the economy, and abandoning them was not an option.

Thus, the city became sealed off, and those who remained had to adapt—to live differently. Very differently. Sunlight became a memory glimpsed on TV. Artificially lit greenhouses grew food; streets required constant illumination, straining energy supplies.

But these were merely inconveniences. The real terror lay in the fact that this endless night had a source: a source of darkness, spreading ever outward—a darkness that had to be fought. And it was a dangerous fight. The darkness claimed lives, most often those near its source, but sometimes randomly throughout the city. Hiding from it was impossible.

People learned to hold the darkness at bay, to push it back in some areas, making certain parts of the city just a little brighter. But they could never truly defeat it. Special squads were formed to combat the darkness. These squads were highly respected but always in need of new members. Many were afraid to join due to the risks, though everyone understood that the city couldn’t survive without them. Day after day, these squads prolonged the city’s existence—not life, but mere existence.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Neighboring cities helped as best they could, sending fresh produce grown under real sunlight, generators, and advice on combating the darkness. Occasionally, city officials would speculate cautiously about when morning might come. But nothing changed. It didn’t get worse, but it didn’t get better either. People began to adjust. Flashlights, generators, and charging stations became part of daily life. Fear dulled. Emotions and desires started to decay, degenerate, and evolve backward.

Life became a monotonous cycle devoid of a future. People occasionally looked back with nostalgia at the days before the sun disappeared, before the night took their loved ones. Trust eroded. Hope seemed pointless, a cruel lie after so many false dawns.

This wasn’t just a psychological problem that therapy could treat. It became the new normal.

But then, something happened. A light appeared. The long-forgotten sight of morning light edging the horizon once again delighted the eyes, even though true dawn had not yet arrived.

Most importantly, hope began to stir. A chance emerged—a chance to regenerate and reclaim the will to plan, to create, to rebuild. People waited, believed, and hoped… praying that this was the first glimmer of dawn and not the glow of an approaching fire....

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This project is part of the digital section of Cure³ at Bonhams, curated by Alex Estorick and Foteini Valeonti of reGEN.

Made with p5js and hope @Kitel87 || 2025