Stalked

STALKED

  I really can’t remember exactly when I began this journey. I guess the quest might have beckoned me with its outstretched hand right after high school graduation, when I was ripe for adventure and enlightenment. At that time my mind was an open vessel just thirsting to be filled. The road materialized beneath my feet, and I was strolling along its blacktop before I took the time to realize that my legs were moving. But then again, my expedition might have begun even earlier, nurtured by small seeds of discontent that were planted by aloof parents or even the thugs who mocked my size and reluctance to stand up for myself. Some could say that the drugs might even have had something to do with my travels, opening up the desire for worlds of fantasy and detachment. In any event, I am on this road and have been for quite a while. 

  It started out pleasant enough. My thumb was my travel ticket. I didn’t have any enemies back then. I had left them all behind in my small town. Good riddance, I said. I wanted to see beauty, feel the warmth of pleasant smiles, walk into open arms. And those arms were there to welcome me at first. No one knew that I had struggled. No one I met cared that I was less than perfect. There were mountains to climb, open fields to sleep in, stars to count. I laughed one day when I heard someone say, “The world is my oyster.” I thought oysters were slimy and disgusting. No, the world was my chocolate cake. Sweet and satisfying. And I never got full.

  I think my favorite part of the trip was the silence at night. Well, not total silence, just the dearth of car engines and horns, insignificant chatter, and slap of rubber soled shoes on pavement. In my sleeping bag under the stars and without those irritating interruptions, I could hear the leaves rustle and the wind blow. I was lulled to sleep by the chorus of crickets and tree frogs. The wolves howled. I could almost hear the earth turn.  

  The quiet of the night allowed my brain to expand and soak in the vibrations of existence.  I felt apart from myself, like I was watching my body from above. But it wasn’t frightening. It was a peaceful observation, like watching deer graze in a field—comforted that they were getting all they needed to survive.  I had everything I needed to survive in those days too, back when life was calm, and my journey was safe. Back before I knew anything about my enemy. Back before my peace was yanked away by someone following me, determined to take everything I had. 

  My enemy didn’t make himself known at first. But I had grown to be in tune with nature and the presence of life around me so much that I just had a feeling of another’s presence. It was kind of like sensing heat or being aware of the sun’s ultraviolet rays. There was a disturbance in the air. An unsettling of the order of things. A strange, lurking resident that had not been there the day before. There was someone hiding somewhere in the dark green growth of the forest, watching me, and waiting for me to turn my back. I just knew. 

  At first it was only the knowing, without concrete confirmation. My stalker was determined to remain hidden, preferring to create fear with just his dark, dolorous, and covert presence. I guess he got some kind of satisfaction from his invisibility, like ghosts who haunt houses and generate fear without ever being seen.  I could imagine my concealed enemy crouched behind a tree, smiling evilly, smirking at my trepidation to venture further into the forest. I had enjoyed this particular spot in the woods, with the mountains guarding me like sentinels. But now, the protection of the peaks had run out and I knew I had to move on and leave my rival behind. 

  But he followed me. He was just right behind me as I escaped to the next town with its unintroduced wave of smiling residents, and then to the next city with its cacophony of sirens and chorus of shouting voices. I sensed his presence as he remained out of sight while I broke away and travelled many miles to the western barren desert with its stifling breeze and then on to the rocky ridges of the coast.  Finally, I turned toward him and demanded that he present himself and tell me what he wanted from me. I was tired of running. 

  Of course, he wasn’t going to comply at first. I should have known--deceptive, conniving trickster that he was.   I think he wanted to torture me. So, he decided to just make some noise and try to frighten me even more. But I can recognize a trick when I see one. So, I knew that his attempts to howl like a wolf or moan like an injured elk were fake and almost laughable.  I almost doubled over when he pretended to be a ghost and moaned in the wind. But I stopped laughing when he spoke to me.

  His voice was hoarse and gravelly. I had to strain to make out the words. They were initially garbled and low. But he knew my name. I heard it repeatedly in the string of nonsensical syllables. It took time for the other words to become decipherable. I had strained so hard to make out the words that when I finally heard them clearly, I greatly regretted my efforts. I knew then that he was an enemy who was out to destroy me. He said, “You are worthless. You deserve to die.” 

  “Why?” I screamed out into the darkness. “Why are you trying to torture me so?” But he was silent then and left me to shiver in the cool night air without the care and compassion of another human being.   And, as many times as he flung those words at me, I never got an answer to my question.

  I began to see glimpses of him through the trees. Not all of him, though—mostly his eyes. Mere specks of squinted, moving light as he darted behind tree after tree. He was a crafty, fast fellow, always trying to keep me guessing where he was. But I got wise to him and was constantly on the lookout for those eyes peering at me through the foliage. I began to anticipate his movements and my eyes would be waiting for him before he had even settled into position to try to frighten me.  But despite my confidence at forecasting his whereabouts, I was never able to shake the raw fear that scratched my skin and spread throughout my bones every time I saw him staring at me without any manner of introduction.  

  He began to invade my body.  At first it was just goosebumps and an unsettled stomach. Then I had trouble catching my breath and could feel my heart thumping loudly and unevenly. I began to feel a prickly sensation on my skin, like thousands of crawling ants. There was a ringing in my ears and my head thudded with hundreds of pairs of stomping steel-toed boots. He had gained access to my body and was waging his war under my skin.

  His voice was getting louder. When he wasn’t campaigning his combat in my ears, he was talking behind my back about me. But I heard him--always plotting ways to catch me off guard, mess with my thoughts, show me things I know were not there.  He told me there were many of his kind, but I was confident I had only seen one set of eyes spying on me through the trees. Sometimes in the darkness his eyes melted into one. One lone, third eye always watching me.  Like the sun hovering overhead but never setting with the dusk of day. 

  And then he breached the hard armor of my brain.  He stuck his grimy fingers into my skull and stirred up my thoughts until they were so jumbled and confused, I could no longer think straight. I tried to form coherent and meaningful sentences as I talked to myself, but they came out only as word salad.  I tried to remember things, to call forth memories of my childhood, even those that I had wanted to forget. But my brain was as barren as the desert I had crossed. I was empty of rational thought and void of any ability to feel pleasure.   I could no longer fight my enemy. 

  So, I sat shivering in the darkness, waiting for the commands of my attacker. But there is never total darkness.  Slivers of light always find their way through murk and midnight to illuminate just enough for eyes to see danger and the mind to know to panic.  Sometimes the psyche can succeed in playing tricks of positivity and ignorance, but beneath the charade is always the knowledge that the demons are there and waiting.  And the light is lurking to confirm what one already knows.

  And nothing can drown out the invasion of voices in your head. You can fight their directives as long as you have strength in your body. But that strength will inevitably run out, sapped by the constant barrage of ridicule and torment inflicted over the long journey. So, when I was commanded to snuff out my worthless life, I had no energy left to refuse. Time stood in a frozen, mournful salute as my enemy’s voice multiplied and growled inside my ears. 

  Then, as a breeze ran its fingers through my matted hair, damp with sweat and mist, I looked up and saw moonlight breaking through the clouds. Light, the light of heaven.   A dancing, singing light beckoning me to follow.  I found I could understand the language of light. It explained the mysteries of life. So simple. There had always been sacrifices. And there would continue to be sacrifices needed to correct the wrongs of this world and rid humanity of the weak. Contributions to ensure a firm future for those remaining, those who held tight to their sanity. Offerings to make peace and seek forgiveness for imperfect perceptions.  My enemy knew that. He had been right about me all along. As if he were a part of me.

  I wanted to hear angel voices. I wanted to hear their celestial song in sharp comparison to the tenebrous chants ranting inside my brain. My brain had betrayed me, and the light was calling. If I could summon those glorious cherubs that I knew were floating somewhere high above me, I would finally be able to break free of the auditory chains that had kept me prisoner in my own mind on this long, torturous journey.  So, I will free myself of this weighted body and disturbed mind.  The pure harmonies of heavenly spirits will be the only voices I hear. I think I can hear them already.