the darkness is a sphere when it strikes. it starts as a pinprick, a small black stab in the fabric of light. then it spreads, tentacles stretching and pulling, possessing, claiming. the tendrils touch the light and turn it dark, they touch the yellow and fade it to black. everything inside the yellow dies, shrivels up, curls in upon itself. dry. cold. small. defenseless. vulnerable.
then the darkness turns inwards. the ropes of black start tightening, like a snake around its prey. the sphere shrinks, squeezing out all the brightness filling it. the brightness goes out – some parts extinguished with a pop, the rest simply fading, yielding to the black. the black winds closer and closer, strangling everything in the sphere, until everything dies. breathless. heaving. gasping. clawing at the blackness for a hint of the light.
the sunlight goes out. everything is ruthless and threatening. the black bands together. safety in numbers.
slowly, quickly, everything that orbits the sphere gets sucked into the abyss. lights go out, brightness is eclipsed. safety in numbers.
the stronger lights dim slightly. they are thrown out of their orbit. sometimes they remain hovering around the sphere, but unable to get close. other times, they leave, and seek out bigger, brighter globes of light. safety in numbers.