Ilyena Wagner
Night after night, I am troubled by the thoughts of my own head. So in an attempt to sooth the rampant attackers, I often venture out into the world. Some nights, I find myself wandering the house. Other nights, I wait for my eyes to adjust and roam the woods that reek of danger to seek out the very eyes of death’s piercing gaze. Tonight, however, I simply took a step out the window and stood on the roof to look down on death. Or perhaps, it forever looks down upon us. Who’s to say? Because despite my midnight searches, I have yet to meet the gaze of the one who looms over all of us. Does death walk among us or does it stand behind us, waiting for the right moment to strike? Is death one being or is it just a lost part of everyone, waiting to be discovered again?
I’ve learned to never bring a flashlight on my excursions. To hunt death, one must see as death would see and learn to open their eyes to the slightest imbalances in the natural environment. You must never bring artificial light. It’s beacon permits the vicious beasts of the night access to a coward who’s relinquished safety for tunnel vision. If the light doesn’t give you away, then your fear certainly will. My years of hunts rid me of any fears of the dark. Thoughts are much scarier than the absence of light.
Sitting even one story up, it’s as if you disappear from the naked eye. Neighbors across the street return home from a late event and are blind to my figure looming above them like death. We rarely turn our gaze upwards. Maybe we’re too afraid to face the dreams we’ve left behind to die in a pile of things we deem impossible. But how much is truly impossible? Have we created the description to replace the word ‘difficult?’ How much potential do we have that we simply brush off as impossible?
Death may send me to my grave, but what if I find it first? Do I live forever or do I die before my clock has clicked into its final resting place? I welcome the insomnia that grants me the time to seek death out and conquer it before it conquers me. Without fear, I venture with a purpose into the night where the demons lurk. In the shadows, I join and move among them. Perhaps to find death or perhaps to lose myself.
And all of this, midnight adventures and the hunt, is to distract from the sleep that never comes to bring peace to the thoughts that ravage rationality. So sitting on the roof with only the light of the moon to light the way, I search for insomnia’s viperous smile through the dark. The sleepless demon must lose its grip on the chains that entrap me in pursuit of a different ending to my story. But at the end of this hunt, will it be death or rest that I find?