National Short Story Day was on the shortest day of the year: 21st December. I was trapped on a coach between London and Oxford. It was 3.30pm - already twilight, and besides the world was about to end. So I wrote this very short short story & put it on Twitter before I reached my stop...
One day someone moved the day to where the night had been.
The first thing lost was edges. Without dusk or dawn days had no heft. The sun never crossed the yardarm; clocking off became a mere matter of time.
No one liked how the lights on nightclubs didn't show. They lost their appetite for thrills. A dog was always a dog, a wolf - a wolf, but suddenly all cats were plainly different.
Horses were no longer dark, nor strangers - but nor was anything else. Uncertain of uncertainty, no one whistled or danced any more.
Nothing glowed, not even at 3am. At dawn, nothing faded. No one hid: there was so little to hide. Sunflowers didn't know where to look.
People saw all their lovers' flaws. Marriages failed: others flourished. Beds were draped with cloths of heaven, like parrot cages. But even through curtains, morning waking could no longer be gentle.
Twilight clubs convened on cloudy days. If you half closed your eyes, they said, you could almost feel the day switch. Until…
One night someone invented darkbulbs. Soon on sale in every corner shop, only they created the ambiance necessary for love.
Happy Christmas/Holidays/whatever - see you in the New Year!