Make it go away, please make it go away.
The voice continues, and words slowly begin to make sense. Words that sound like poetry grating over a rough surface.
“....pain will continue, you enter the world in pain, but it will leave you after a while. It is no great plan of mine. The act of living, particularly gaining life, is painful.”
My eyes open, and I see a form that turns into a man.
No, not a man, a demon.
Dark shadows follow him in a nimbus as though he possessed wings in a different realm. Wings that didn't quite follow him to this world. His voice is guttural yet somehow melodic. That doesn't take away the pain at the sound. With mypoor vision, I still note that he has dark hair, an olive complexion, and broad shoulders.
As I gaze at him in wonder, he continues, “I gave you life because I see in you a basic contradiction which suits my purpose. You have technology within you, thanks to the one who built you. You also have some of my life force, which will give you memories and skills far beyond your own. I believe you may be strong enough for the days ahead."
He lays a thin package on my lap, and the weight of it against my sensitive skin burns as though it is covered in acid.
“I sought to create you with the hope you might strike against the brightness which is currently too powerful in this world. I’m not one to set you against the other side, though, as both lightness and darkness are needed. Instead, I hope you might balance their power. Now, I suggest you leave this place before your creator wakes, so you do not terrify him.”
He then bends close to me and says quietly, “Malam is my name, and saying it will summon me to you. However, I will not make the journey often. Now I must go.”
He turns after a slight pause and says, “Be safe.” Then he vanishes in a dark swirl that is less than black and more than white.
I feel as though I have been given a puzzle. I would like to follow his direction to leave, but pain and darkness pull at me too strongly. I weary quickly of fighting it. As I surrender, I’m dragged into unconsciousness.
When I wake again, I have little idea of where I am and even less, how long I dwelt in the blackness. The pain is still nearly unbearable but seems less than before. Without any conscious effort or knowledge of how it happens, I pull on the clothes that make up the bundle Malam gave me. Then, with a glance at the sleeping young boy, I leave.
There is not much to say of those moments after leaving the room I first experience life in. Everything in this chaotic space hurts, my eyes blur unexpectedly, and my movements seem only partially under my own control.
What I do remember is stumbling in the middle of what seems to be a street and landing on my knees. There is dirt, and cold, and more pain. As I try to collect myself, I comprehend that I have come a distance from where I initially left the building because my hands are already covered in scrapes and other small wounds, my shirt is torn, and my hair is dirty and falling in my face. Still, I have no recollection of what passed between that moment and this.
Then, the sound of voices adds to the din in my head.
The dull light in this place still makes my head pound and my eyes tear.
One particular voice stands out. It is quiet, smooth.
Blinking, I see a hand in front of me. I take it.
I am lifted out of the grime of the street and half-carried to a carriage where I hear horses prancing and snorting. The door to the carriage is opened, and after some quiet conversation, hands emerge from the now open door. The hands help the boy holding me get his newfound and dirty package into the carriage, where I am wrapped in a blanket.
I regain consciousness in spurts as we travel, hearing words that make no sense as though lyrics spoken out of order. Even if I could remember those words, at this moment my mind is not up to the task of reconstructing the puzzle they create.
Finally, even as my eyes remain mostly blind, there are stairs under my feet, hands under my arms, voices in my ears. We enter a building and I am carried or dragged to something soft and covered with something warm.
Now, ironically perhaps, sleep will not come, not even the disconcerting blackness I have often sunk into until now.
The people who brought me here move around the room talking.
After some time passes, one of them approaches and asks me something. I try to respond, but only a quiet groan escapes. Without asking further, he puts something between my lips and against my teeth. I take it, chew at least partially, and swallow. Whatever enters my body is warming, numbing, and pulls me into a downward, dark spiral.
Iopen my eyes to a field of roses, the petals dripping with blood. The sky is white without any comforting hint of blue. There is no pain in my body, but the sadness in me is an almost palpable pain in my head. I see a figure moving and run to it, gasping for breath as I get there.
I have a second as it turns toward me, filled with relief at finding someone else in the empty space, before a scream fills me, tearing itself out of my throat. For the figure that stands before me is some version of the little boy.
His eyes drip with blood and are a blank space. His arms and part of one leg are missing, and there is a hole in his chest that frames several of the roses. Those blank eyes seem to search for something about me, some recognition, and then from the bloody lips a deep, masculine voice emerges.
The ancient voice tells me that a future without balance is death. Without action, the brightness will slowly take over the darkness. It will destroy those things we need for life, growing things, water, and clean air. Without those elements, humans and demons will cease to exist.
As I understand that my face is cold because of the tearsrunning down my cheeks, this dream leaves in a swirl of black, and I'm in another place.
