The Eyes with Wings

Alarms shrieked obnoxiously. Lights flashed glaringly, starkly against vast nothingness. There was yelling, loud and strong, yet for all the commotion, there was silence.

If a brain could be loud, hers was. If a mind could shout, hers did. Yet when prompted to produce just what the emergency was that triggered such calamity, only a quiet stillness came in response. There was something her mind couldn’t quite let go of, she was sure of it. Just what it was, she couldn’t yet identify.

Every time she closed her eyes, every time her conscienceness began to soften and affix itself on the coattails of the night’s first dream, gossamer and transient as it may be, she is shoved back into an abrupt alertness. The alarms. The lights. There they are again.

In her livened state, she searches for the cause. The answer, no matter how hard she tries, cannot be discerned from the headlights shining through her bedroom windows. Nor can it be detected in the hieroglyphs outlined in the texture of the room’s ceiling. She scours the space, looking for any hint, any sign of what has tripped a wire in her brain and snapped her eyelids awake.

From an indent in her mattress, lying flat on her back and still enough to hear her heart pound in her ears, she looks. Not just in the room, but in both the illuminated spaces and dismally dark cellars of her mind. She digs frantically into each corner, scraping and dinging the edges of her brain until…

Silence.

Sleep.

Eyes.

Eyes that pierce through her engrossing sleep. They stare, unblinking, in this unending beautiful nightmare, or perhaps it was a momentary, terrifying heaven.

These eyes. They knew something, something she did not that was held behind their intent gaze. She stared back, waiting for them to blink as she felt her heart quicken even in its state of rest. 

A lifetime. Or, a second. After one or the other (or both), a long and exaggerated blink. And then, lines form at the sides of these eyes that turn up toward the sky in something of a smile. They glisten. They know. They know something. The lines trace over each other and weave into wings that extend outward like arms awaiting an embrace. They begin to flutter and as they do, they take flight with the eyes in tow toward a black, starry horizon.

She falls in place, startled awake into the same indent in her mattress that swallowed her whole and led her into the visage from which she just arose.

Though jolted into consciousness, there is a stillness about her mind, one that wasn’t there before. There is a peace within her that has silenced her internal alarms and extinguished the flares in her brain. 

She knows. She knows what her dream did, what it meant. It was as clear as the stars she saw in her mind’s eye.

Stare yourself down and see yourself for all that you are. Know the stardust of which you are made. Understand your value. 

And when you do, your wings will be waiting for you.