Life was dull in Dusk. Entertainment was rare, and usually took the form of singing the Birthday Dirge. Everyone knows the Birthday Dirge. It goes like this…
“Hap… py birth… day… to… youuuuuuuuu…
Hap… py birth… day… to… youuuuuuuu…”
And so on. Slow, mournful, as though each reminder of another year passed is just another year of collecting dust, approaching death, and dragging dreariness. And that’s the best that the Huddlers of Dusk could manage for entertainment.
Work was just work for the Huddlers. Repetitive. The Huddlers of Dusk did what they needed to do to feed and clothe themselves and keep their homes from leaking or falling down. They didn’t sing or whistle while they worked, because they didn’t find any real joy in what they were doing. In fact, it’s not at all clear that anyone in Dusk knew how to whistle.
Huddlers learned what to do from their parents, who had learned from their parents, who had learned from… And they did it the same way, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
There was no innovation in Dusk.
