Fiction Friday #14

The Balance

Ten years ago, I sit in the darkness, in awe, as I watch the words "Star Wars" scroll up the movie screen. Up to this point in my life, I've only ever seen the words on TV, smaller than me. Today, the words are taller than my dad and he's tall. I watch the action unfold on the screen, action I've seen a thousand times, but never like this. And once again, I dream of being a Jedi, of having the power of the force and feeling the pull of Ben Kenobi and Darth Vadar, of doing the dangerous dance between the dark and the light, trying to be a hero.

I opened my eyes. It was cold, so I pulled the bag up over my head.

Five years ago, I wake, naked, under the Creeping Tree, the oldest tree on campus, my whole body in pain. It's dark and quiet. I can smell the moist dirt and redwood bark around me. I'm cold, but not shivering. Branches rustle. It's just the wind, I tell myself as I curl into a tight ball. I feel a voice, deep and gravely, like rocks grinding together deep in the earth, course through my bones, "You will serve us." Now I shiver. "You will be the Balance," the wind whispers in my ear. Dark flames erupt around my body, pulling what little warmth there was from the air. "You will preserve the choice," I feel the first voice say. The flames rise and cover my body. "You want this," whispers the other voice. Into my body the flames plunge. I scream. The flames burn cold in my body. I scream. When I wake again I find a black staff twisted and gnarled like a branch on the Creeping Tree, but smooth and cold like glass, in my hand. I close my fingers around the staff and close my eyes. I remember that I want this, that I asked for this, that this is my choice.

I kept my eyes closed this time. Still cold and dark. I rolled over and closed my eyes again.

Years from now, or months, or days, or hours, I run through the dark warehouse. As I run, I turn and swing my staff freezing the air and sending it flying toward my enemies, the small black balls that are all teeth and feet. I hear it crash into them and then into the wall far across the warehouse. I don't stop, though, I run. The only thing that matters is the door and getting out. As I near the door, I don't slow; instead I swing the staff and send a wall of solid air crashing into it, ripping it away from its hinges and throwing it across the parking lot. And I run harder, freedom in only steps away. I pass through the hole I made and feel the coolness of the fresh air on my cheeks. A burst of blinding white light flares in front of me. I stumble and stop. It's standing in front of me casting the light. It raises its eagle wings and hundreds of black shadow teeth things charge from behind it. I set me feet, hold my staff in front of me, and brace myself for what's coming.

I woke in the same drainage ditch I curled up in last night. Thank God it's not a rainy time of year. If it was, I'd have to find actual shelter that isn't already being used by bums. For now, though, dry ditches work well enough when the lights are down. I rolled and stuffed my back and then clipped it to my backpack which I tossed out of the ditch. I dropped my pants and squatted down, thinking about how I was peeing in pretty much the place that I had just been sleeping. It's an odd world.

I don't usually focus on my dreams anymore; they haven't changed much since the war started. Before the war my dreams were as random as anyone else’s, just my brain trying to make sense of my day. After the war, though I always dreamed of Star Wars and that night under the tree. I assumed that it was to remind me of the choice I made and the reason I made it, but last night was the first time I dreamed of the future. The first time I'd seen my enemy.

I stood up, pulled my pants up, grabbed my staff, and climbed out. I put the pack over my shoulders, locked it around my waist, and wondered where I was going to find the angel I'd seen in my dream.