Page 70 of Things Get Dark

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just listen to your breath. It never stays still. It has to change. You can’t just breathe in forever. You’d lose your breath, and that would be the end of you.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Your inhale has to change to an exhale for you to live. And then it has to change back. You can’t just exhale forever, desperately trying to let go so you can live. You just let things be the way they are, ever-changing.”

My brow furrows. “I’m not sure I follow.”

The bird lays an egg in front of me. “Think of someone you love.”

My mum springs to my mind.

“Think of that person as they are now. Would you wish they’d always been that way?”

“I—Uh, no?”

“No. Because if they’d always been this way, they’d be stuck. They’d never have enjoyed life. They’d be trapped in an instant of time. We need to flow with time, with life. You don’t want to be so busy trying to make a life that you forget to live.” The egg begins to crack. “Because you never know when your time might be up.”

I turn to the bird to find it lying motionless beside me. The gentle up and down of its chest has stopped. The sound of eggshell breaking calls for my attention, and I watch, eyes wide with wonder, as a small rust-coloured bird emerges, chittering away, its song of new life melodious in the oxygen-rich air. Feelings of awe overwhelm me, and I realise I’ve never seen anything being born before. Not in person. Not in real life. I raise a finger to my face to discover it damp. Then my chest is heaving, and I realise I’m crying. My cheeks hurt, and I notice I’ve been smiling for the last minute as I watched this miracle unfurl before me.

The little bird hops around and then wanders up to me.

“Do you see?” he says. “You would never have been able to see that unless things changed. You’d never be able to feel the way you just felt without change. Everyone you’ve ever loved, every moment of happiness you’ve ever experienced, every connection to the divine or whatever you want to call it, happened because you and others were capable of, and bound to, change.” The bird flies up and towards the clearing. “Now come on.”

Chapter Four

By the time Imake it through the clearing, the bird has disappeared. So has most of the greenery. In its place are makeshift huts, hodgepodges of sticks, clay, and sprawling green leaves. Heat crackles towards me, and I take a seat by a small fire, noticing a strip of fabric around my waist. The flames lick the air like lost lovers reunited, hungry and passionate.

“It’s amazing what a little fire can do.” That voice. Angel, fish, bird. Now human.

Gabriel walks round the corner of a hut, a few dead rabbits hanging from a band wrapped round his waist. A scrap of fabric is the only thing he’s wearing. Despite the majesty of the journey I’m on, I can’t help but find myself staring at his body. Lean, muscular, perfect for hunting.

“Brought us down from the trees and into the rest of the world,” he continues, sitting down next to me.

His bare leg brushes against mine, and I pull away gently, hiding under a shifting crossing of legs. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he hasn’t looked up at me at all. Instead, he perches on the end of the log, cuts a rabbit from his makeshiftbelt, and lays it on a makeshift table. He pulls out a stone knife—from where, I couldn’t tell you. As he lifts it up, I turn my head and close my eyes.

Explosions of red play out against the darkness of my eyelids. Streaks of crimson and burgundy mingle together, dancing in time to the sound of the knife smashing against the wood. Then softer, peeling sounds, and I feel myself convulse. An image of my own body stands before me, surrounded by endless black. Thin, unsubstantial, built wrong, like a child smashing puzzle pieces together.

My skin begins to fall off, peeling back to reveal the sinew and muscle beneath. My breath would catch were it not for the muscles falling away too, leaving my lungs hanging there like limp sacks of unfulfilled potential. As my bones begin to crack and splinter, my organs spill out, slapping against the ground. Finally, my bones snap, the last semblance of something humanoid falling away until I’m nothing more than a witness to my own destruction. Then everything succumbs to darkness.

Devoid of substance, of anything other than the despair in which my consciousness marinates, I sit in absence.

I lose track of my sense of self.

There is no me.

I am gone.

Until I hear a spark. Suddenly, the remnants of my body, ashen upon the floor, are ablaze, flames spreading. Heat rages into me. Everything burns with dazzling light and then there I am, crawling out of the heap of dust I used to be. The flicking of flames carries me higher until I stand, feet firmly planted on the dregs of drought.

Energy courses through my renewed body. I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel ready.

“See what I mean?” Gabriel asks.

The rabbit is roasting on the fire, the husky scent of charring meat drifting about. Gabriel is looking at me, eyes beaming straight into my soul.

“What was that?” I ask. “I feel reborn.”

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