My nights were difficult since I was five years of age. I would Wake up often surrounded by worried faces, old people lamenting on my feverish frail body. There were days it’ll be at my mom’s bedside and some days at the crowded squeaking sound of hospital beds. While I aimlessly lay unconscious, there was a feat devouring my subconscious. This nightmare founded the very core of seemingly rudderless fear of the unknown. It would often start with soulless shadows closing in, invading my space. Their faces come to light, all men staring like hungering beasts. I would try to hover up, mustering the strength to feel the expanse of feathered budding part at my back. As I slowly weakened, the faces below me are growing fiercely of frightening thirst. I would tirelessly fly, jump through nearing structures–trees, roof houses, walls, to run away from the anxious crowd. I would wake up exhausted, fearing the deep sleep..fearing those shadows coming back.

This went on for years. It went on since the last episode.. before I buried her to quiet resolute. There was the French guy and a Middle Eastern, bickering over authority. The first, pleasures at the thought of being in command, paralyzing me with inability to formulate choices. The other, plays the hero providing my accommodation in the city I just moved in, his generosity leading me to a trap. I left and started anew, impersonating what would have expected of someone my age. While I quietly hoisted and reasoned with the Black Woman, I finally released her from chains. The nightmares stopped. The hunting began. Her wings grew, forcefully dancing to and fro winds and gravity. She aimed with accuracy, whispering the intentions on charging arrows. His head, his heart.. him feeling a sudden sting. One after another, hearts bled languishing in misery. While she banishes the palling fear that once held me, my faith builds the destined path.