A Graveyard of Dreams

There was a man with a bird on his arm. He stared into the black thing's eyes, as deeply as if into the soul of a friend. He himself wore dark greys, his face, a shadow absent of eyes.

"What do you think?" I whispered into the air. A cool breeze stirred.

"Green maybe..." My companion replied. We watched the man from our perch on the window seat. Silent and still, caught within the suspense of waiting. My silly little friend was right, for although we never moved nor made a sound, the man tilted his head like that of a bird and stared straight at us. The light of the moon revealed all.

His eyes were green.

As verdant as moss, as gleaming as lamplight, we watched him while he watched us. In the breath of a second and with the swell of the wind, he turned and was gone. Footsteps marked his disappearing presence in the thickening snow, but all other evidence of his ever being there - was lost to the world. Even the bird, black feathers and beady eyes, had melded into night.

"Well..." my friend breathed heavily, a chuckle at the end, "that was scary."

I hesitated before replying, a strange smile stealing the space of my lips.

"Yes...yes it was."

We clambered down from the window's inner ledge and creeped down the stairs. My friend cringed at the creaking old wood, but I secretly savoured the sound, revelling in the space between silence. I closed the door to the attic with a thud and returned to the guest room. I then raced for the covers as another cold breeze swept through my bones, and huddled into the warmth of the bed. As I lay, dreams swirled around me in the darkness. From thoughts of clouds and trees and falling leaves, to snow-covered fields and feathers and birds.

Night was a place of wonder, of shadows made real, of demons - seen and ghosts - imagined. As I slept and my heart was still beating softly, I felt the faint pressure of fingers slipping over my arms. I did not move, I was not awake so I could not. Now, my heart pounded. A sense of coldness raised the hairs of my neck and dread at the unknown told me to run, to wake. Again, I could not. I tried to open my eyes and they flickered for a second, catching movement in the corner of the room. But soon, a different sight came into view. By trying desperately to see, I had opened something else, some hidden vision of the inner mind.

I stood by a tree with branches bereft of leaves and as I looked at my half-raised arm, some winged beast flew and landed there. Its talons pressed into me, ink-like liquid swirling into my arm. The creature looked at me with a tilted head and I knew as I looked into the depths of its eyes that it knew me and I, knew it. I was caught in this exchange, confused one moment and then, clarity: I was the Reaper. No. Confusion cut into me like the scattered shards of a broken mirror, where once a clear image was seen. This part of me rebelled at the thought. 'Something is wrong', it said in whispers.

'Look.' It said again, more urgently.

'Look!' A thousand voices said at once.

So I turned, and saw a house, and a window, and a child - and then I saw myself. I stared at him while he stared at me. I saw my life in his eyes, and then, knowing who I was now, in this graveyard of dreams - I saw death.

"Death is a place of dreams." A voice said behind me and then around me, moving like the waves of the sea. It commanded one to listen.

"It is the thoughts and wishes and prayers, the deepest desires once whispered in secret by those once living."

I turned following the baritone sound, almost completing a full circle before seeing the figure. Shadows pulled from the darkness and became one in the centre, undulating like a cloak as this night-time beast stood still.

"It is not a graveyard as you see it." He continued, with a swish of his arm. The scene before me fell away and in its place was the uneven floor of the cemetery. Rocks jutted up from the ground, some carved neatly into headstones, others strewn over the grounds, marking the death of someone forgotten. Iron wrought fences surrounded us on all sides and past that, fields and fields of snow stretched over the land. 'Forgotten', the word echoed in my mind.

"No..." The man sighed. "This is a place of tragedy. A hopeless, dreamless place. There are no souls here to be found."

I felt a question on my lips but needed not to speak, for he continued again, answering all my subsequent questions as he did.

"The world forgets, young Reaper, these are just bodies and brains. All things of life wilt and die but love does not, and what is love but not the essence our very soul. Love does not need life to fuel its flame. The death of a loved one does not result in the death of love, as an example. Come, and I will show you the resting place of souls. See for yourself, the beauty of death. Tragedy was only ever part of life."

I choked on an emotion I had long ago buried. The man's voice softened as he spoke, reminding me of my father.

"You know this to be true." He stated thoughtfully. "It was why I chose you."

His words sunk into me, settling deep within my mind as I realised the meaning of his choice and the weight of its mantle. 'Young reaper', he had called me.

"That one so young...could feel so much pain. This is why I prefer the dead." He said with laughter. "For they know only the happiness of freedom."

I smiled. Feeling suddenly like the final piece of the puzzle had been found. And it fitted, so perfectly. It belonged.

I realised he was awaiting my response. I was given a choice. Fear fell away. What was the point in fearing death when he was an old friend? Death could no longer hurt me knowing there was no malice in his being, seeing now how happiness had painted his eyes with an emerald gleam. Some of us, humans, fear this man of shadow. We see him from our window and scream. We watch him warily while he observes us, and try to run. But I see him now clearly, as a man in a coat, with a sense of humour and a clever wit, who has watched the world and realised soon on its brutality. He who shook his head at life's misery and welcomed the dead with comfort. This was the story of the Reaper and the man I would one day become. A mysterious figure with a bird on his arm who opened the door to another world. A place of dreams.

He nodded knowingly.

"Come then. We must be there to welcome them."