“A SINGLE WORD”

The following is A winning entry from the Glenn Gentrey Writing Contest. A huge thank you to all who entered, and congratulations to our three winners!

“A word was secretly brought to me,

    my ears caught a whisper of it.

Amid disquieting dreams in the night,

    when deep sleep falls on people,

fear and trembling seized me

    and made all my bones shake. 

A spirit glided past my face,

    and the hair on my body stood on end.

It stopped,

    but I could not tell what it was.

A form stood before my eyes,

    and I heard a hushed voice:”

Job 4:12-16 

The night holds nothing but terrors. Terrors seen and unseen. Its black hands horde and hold that which can only be described as despicably evil. Can I say anything about it that is good? No, for nothing comes to my mind. Sleep is a torment that brings dreams so real and vivid that my discernment of what is real has slowly begun to drain.  I am a clay pot with a small crack in the bottom, feeling the contents of my mind dripping and seeping into the moist earth below. My memories collide with those visions I see in the dark folds of the night. 

I wish that waking would provide some relief, but the day's drudgeries strive to return me to the world of dreams as if it doesn’t ever wish me to leave. That world has no compassion on how long I have suffered its presence. It is a fight for me to leave and a war for me to stay away. Telling people isn’t an option, I know that they could not give me advice I have not already heard. They would call me insane and I wouldn’t blame them. No trinkets or medicines or drugs will keep me from that place, and so every night I travel back to the darkness I despise.

Many see me pass by them every day on my way to work and no one knows nor can comprehend the suffering my small frame contains. Makeup covers the dark circles beneath my eyes and the several steaming cups of coffee keep them from recognizing my exhaustion. 

It is a despicable thing when sleep does not bring rest and waking does not bring relief. For there is no hope in the reality that I face. Why do I keep going? Why do I continue to force myself to continue in this world that bears no pleasure? I have no answer. Maybe it is because, in some small way, I believe that I deserve to suffer for what I have done. Maybe because even though I hate it, something in the dream world pulls me. It gives me a real human feeling, even if only fear. 

All day work consumes me, keeping me busy and my mind barely off my reality. When I get home, the quiet dim light and lack of commotion return my thoughts to the night.  

My heart subtly begins to beat faster as my anxiety rises. I can feel my eyes dilating slightly and the small tremors of my hands. I don’t fight it anymore. There is no point. Laying on the couch with defeated discouragement, I close my eyes. I succumb to the increasing tug towards sleep.  

I enter, as I always do, in the small pavilion beside the endless inky black ocean. The waves lap gently against the sand, a peaceful contrast compared to that which I must face. The pants and leather armor that cover my torso are tight but comfortable. I wear no mask for there is no need. They know exactly who I am.

In my life, I have read many stories about those who run out into the night, calling it their friend and a time when they can truly be themselves. They use its cover to protect others, hiding what they consider to be their true identity from those around them. Calling themselves vigilantes, they wear capes and masks, fight with weapons, and run in forests. With their lives lived in a fantasy they become the hero. 

That is not who I am.

My fight is against no one but myself. The beasts and villains that wage war against me are of my own making. I consider it my own secret life. A dark and despairing life beneath the thin veil of sleep. It is not real, but that does not make it any less deadly. A fact made evident by how my life seems to slowly drain away. 

Staring out across the ocean, I hear a soft rumble and I know they are coming. The terrors that turn my dreams into nightmares will soon arrive. 

My bare foot hits the soft sand as I step away from the pavilion and let it fade into my consciousness. I used to hide in it, hoping its grey arches and flowing drapes would provide a refuge for me. I quickly learned that it would not. I have tried running but they always find me. I have tried swimming but I drown. 

The rumblings get louder and I hear their rallying call.

“It is time,” I whisper, raising my hand I will a large spear into my hand. Out of the many weapons I have tried this one has been the most effective as it puts the most distance between me and them. 

I stand at the water's edge. 

The freezing water laps my toes. 

I spot them.

A shiver travels up my spine. 

My very soul trembles within me.   

No words can accurately depict what I see every night. The best way my brain can compute them into any understandable language is as beasts. Beasts with four heads, fangs salivating with hunger, and claws that extend the width of my head. They wear golden crowns but there is nothing regal about them. A swirling mass of confusing words swirls upon their foreheads, meant to only distract me. Their stomachs bulge with the fat fear of previously devoured prey. As they barrel toward me, I can almost taste their odious breath and feel their hideous beady eyes hungrily leering at me.  

I stand to meet them. 

I am alone. 

My hair is picked off my shoulder and carried behind me by a soft wind. It swirls around me not harsh or fast but gentle and comforting. I can almost see the drifting strands of the wind that encircle me like beautiful ribbons being twirled in the hand of a dancer. Frowning, I look around. This world does not have wind. It is always perfectly still. A strand blows past my ear and riding upon it comes a quiet whisper. The sound is extremely subtle and I find myself intently listening to not miss what it is trying to say. The growls of the beasts fade as I focus on the small murmur. My heart’s beating is slowed as if responding to the odd wind. What is it you are trying to tell me? I ask the wind. 

A loud crack, like the sound of booming thunder, tears through my subconscious. It freezes me in place and I snap back to where I truly am. Never. Never before has any of this ever happened. Casting anxious eyes to the purple sky, I pause while my knuckles whiten as I tighten my grip on my spear. Another boom sounds, this one louder than the last, it causes my bones to shake and my knees hit the sandy ground. My screams mix with the howls of the beasts and another thundering echo rips through my consciousness.  

A moment of quiet allows me to look out to sea and I notice that the beasts have stopped their progression to look at the sky as if they expect someone. My heart, which had stilled from the gentle wind, plummets to my feet and I clench my jaw. They say if you die in your dreams, you have not long left in the real world. The memory of the old lore sparks in my brain and I find that more than the beasts I fear death. Recognition of why I have kept on living in the shadow that stands between life and death finally hits me. Already on my knees, I await what must surely mean death. 

Then I see Him. 

He does not come from the way of the beasts but descends from the clouds, landing on the water as if it were solid ground. His appearance is bright, almost too much for me to look at, piercing, yet I cannot force my eyes away. 

The hatred of the beasts steams off of them as they hiss and spew in His direction. They growl, shout, and yell but they do not move and something in me knows that somehow they can’t. I can see their bodies rippling in exertion to finish their attack but they are frozen from progressing. 

I begin to back away, forcing my groggy limbs to move me as His feet hit the sand. As His eyes gaze upon me, I feel as if my soul has been laid bare like the skin has been flayed off. Shivering and shaking uncontrollably, I try to get away from the excruciatingly bright light. As He nears for the first time I get a glimpse of His face. Purely white with eyes like flames of fire. Not like the fire that burns in the bellies of the beast but different. A purging precious fire. Gentle and yet fearsome. 

Looking upon me, He smiles. 

A small compassionate smile.

Tears stream down my face and my heartbeat slows again as He kneels to my level. I do not know what I expect him to do. He lifts my hand that clutches my spear with his own and one by one peels my fingers from the staff. His movements are slow and purposeful. Setting the spear down He pauses for a moment. 

Words rise unbidden to my mouth and I speak before I think. My voice cracks and breaks as I say, “How will I fight them?” 

In awe and confusion, I watch as without a word, He raises His hand to His face and pulls from His mouth a glowing double-edged sword. 

Shaking my head, I begin to question Him in my mind. What am I supposed to do with it? I do not know how to properly wield it. I do not deserve it. 

Ever so gently, He reaches out presenting the sword to me. 

My eyes drift back to the beasts, who seem much smaller now. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know that I do not want to fight them alone any longer. The tears pour forth faster as I struggle to fully comprehend the gift He is giving me. For so long I have battled endlessly with these terrors of the night. For so long I have tried multiple ways to dispatch them all to no avail. Who am I that He would help me? Why now? Tentatively I reach out my hand across the short distance separating us. I know once I take it that my life will never be the same. My fingers enclose tightly around the hilt. Without a single doubt, I know that I am never letting go. Warmth, like a strange but beautiful fire flares within me. From the depths of my soul, a new feeling is stirred. A feeling I had long thought dead and buried beneath a mountain of fears. A single word branded into me forever.  

HOPE!