Below our streets, beneath our feet, are dark, hollow tunnels where the shadows rest in the day. At night, when the rainbow city sleeps, they creep on scuttling hands and feet to the surface to breathe our air. With a night owl’s eyes, I used to guard the city gates and wait for the shadows to appear and crawl about the forests near my post. At the gates at noon, I’d watch the blue skies fade, unafraid of the men of one shade. For though we guards were always told they were dangerous, they had never given us anything to fear. “Who goes there!” I’d yell at the dark night, and the shadows would take flight so quietly as if ashamed. We had always been sure they were more afraid of us than us of them, when one night that changed. 

That cold evening, as night fell, I let out my scripted yell “Who goes there!” expecting no reply. But as the shadows took flight, one remained, stubborn and determined to fight. The shadow, dark and tall, covered the city wall where my fellow guard and I stood. He would harm us as we had been warned, but not in the way that we’d been told. This shadow wasn’t just dark, but old. And with his age came wisdom and the urge to leave us both with wise words. “Wise words can sometimes be dangerous,” he spoke deep like thunder. “The truth can be harmful to hear. But I feel that I must warn you both of a worse truth that is very, very bare. 

“Your city banished the men who dared to question the truths they sell. And without hesitation, they drained our color and below ground we were all expelled. Men like you, they cast away when too many questions are asked. But when men’s questions go unanswered, their trust in their leaders never lasts. Your leaders tell you when we come to ask for who and not for why. Because they fear that the dark men banished might return to feed you lies. So I ask you, dear guards, answer this question and I will leave; which man is more dangerous to trust? A man who tells you ‘seek the truth’ or a man who tells you ‘just believe’?”  

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” my fellow guard replied. But me, a fearful fool, went with the shadow man for answers. And though he spoke the truth, that men must ask less of ‘who’ and more of ‘why’, not all wise men are good men. In their misery, they may need friends, and fools to grief they guide. Now, below the streets, beneath happier men’s feet, is where I must reside.  

“Those Below” by Adana H.