Ebony Wings

21

~Ali~

As I toss within the sheets over and over, I quickly realise that sleep will not find me tonight. A flutter takes flight in my chest, light and unchained, rivalling the plunging feeling in my stomach. In my head, my mind is running in tight, imperfect circles and frankly, it is tiring. Yet simultaneously, I have never felt so energised, as if my nerves were hooked to a battery pack. A true collection of contradictions. 

I lay in the dark silence for minutes (hours?) more, thrumming my fingers across my thighs.

Nup, I can't do this anymore.

I gently roll out of bed and pace the short length of the room, trying to stomp my thoughts and worries into the floor. But it doesn't work. My mind won't be silenced.

Huffing under my breath, I scan the dark room, opening my eyes as wide to see through the milky darkness. When I am convinced everyone remains motionless in sleep, I slip into my boots and drift away, the strings whispering against each other as I pass.

My steps are silenced over the rubber soles of my shoes as I sneak into the frosty air. I contort my body through the slim crack in the cave door and take my time walking out into the star-speckled night. My breath is foggy as I drop to the frozen floor.

The galaxy shines bright in the black velvet sky, enveloping the pregnant moon. The silvery light illuminates the falling snow - a bewitching scene whereby each snowflake resembles a pin-prick of a star drifting towards the earth. And with each glittering flake that settles to the floor, calm and silent in the night, my mind is also numbed. 

I allow myself to simply exist, focusing on the slight sting in my chest with each frigid inhale. After a few moments, I allow a controlled and clear line of thought to slowly formulate. Out here, with the uniform landscape and sobering night sky, nothing seems to be overly complicated, especially our trip that will ensue; we will go to the church whereby the compass will do what a compass does (point), then we will follow it to The Book of Angels and erase the names of the Fallen. Easy. Mission accomplished. 

I run this simplified, idealistic and possibly naive prediction on repeat to offer some self-assurance, hoping that some of this sudden confidence will stick by the time morning appears. 

I cast my eyes skyward again, hypnotised by the scintillating lights. And then they brighten, dazzling my eyes, pulsing, as if... interacting? For a moment, I am compelled to respond, an intuitive reflex that has me sitting further forward. A longing pinches at my heart. How had I not realised what was in front of me this whole time... -

And then the sensation is gone. I settle back again and simply admire the beauty of the night without another thought to bother me.

I sit outside, content, not concerning myself with the time or the growing cold rooting into my skin. I lose myself in the glassy sky and that is enough. Eventually, the silver tendrils of moonlight press down on my eyelids, pulling them closed. 

When the sky begins its ritual metamorphosis, melting from a grainy charcoal to a smooth royal blue, the stars begin to wink out as the sun outshines the moon's pale glow. The first morning rays break through the mountain pass, blanketing the ice-covered land in sugary light. 

The dilute gold strands spread warmth into my cheeks, my nose, my neck, my fingertips. My whole body tingles. And as I sit there, bathing in the champagne light, sweet memories flood toward me, projected on the back of my eyelids like a cinema for one. Images of a little girl holding her daddy's finger in one, small hand. Images of a colourful Sunday sky and dewy socks. Images of a glittering pond and whipping cream clouds and love. So much love.