Some thoughts before part V....

I am a raven. Am I a raven? No. A hawk? No, too noble. A sparrow maybe. I don’t scavenge or hunt, I wander and hope to not be devoured. I hope to find somewhere safe to lay my head under my wings, folded back in peace. Peace is such a word. So hopeful. Unrealistic? A dark wind carries me to places I don’t want to be or places that I hoped would be different and I chase this idea of fulfillment, of love perhaps.
Or just peace.
I feel like that boy sometimes, whose bed carried him through space. Carried him into some strange and turbulent conflict. His future looked hopeful. It looked as though he were to play some noble part in the action of the cosmos. Maybe he will yet. Maybe that’s why the story was never finished. I don’t know how to write an ending to something that I am still in the midst of.
I know the ending I hope to see though. A happy one that ends in a sweet death which is really just the beginning to something even more beautiful. Are happy endings just hopeful creations by people who believe that there should be something better to this world, to this life? God, I hope not. At least I have comfort though. Some don’t even have that. The discomfort I feel at times is my own fault and I’m too self centered to see the bigger picture. That my life is easy because I have more good days than bad. That, and food on my plate every night.
It feels like the dark corners of the earth are sometimes growing towards each other. Or the darkness is growing outward so that it is no longer restricted to the corners, but the middle places as well.
I awoke one morning with a weight moving across my legs. It traveled up my body to hold to me to my bed, under my blankets. I struggled, but it felt as though I were struggling against my own body…struggling to free myself from the strange grip and utter some phrase that would free me. And then a warm breath spoke dark things into my ear, telling me that I would never make it out of this, that I would never be more than this. “Always remember that,” it said. God help me. Help me move, I thought to myself and slowly I was able to open my eyes and shake myself free.
How often are dark things whispered to me in my sleep? Things meant to destroy any sense of peace and hope that I hold. How often do I listen to them? What else is out there that I don’t see? Things that hold me and chain me to my darker thoughts and sinking feelings. How do I fight against them? What causes a child to watch helpless as dark figures enter his room and cover his face with their hands, or gives him nightmares of cities turning to ash and rubble as other men stare hatefully at each other?
I wish I were a sparrow...