Until Dawn Breaks

Visceral dread rolled in with the orange hues of dusk, of dust, of ashes, of tears. I was a prisoner to my own mind, the rebuke from my dear Aisling, and all we knew. My knuckles were bruised from breaking everything, breaking her, yet my heart couldn’t stop bleeding.

So Nefar found me - waded between the old food wrappers, empty bottles - a manmade disaster. Grogginess froze my mind; everything was delayed a second.

“Easton,” His voice was slick, and every word was a host to a million meanings. My eyes squinted as the light poured in, maybe it was 4 or 5 in the morning.

“She’s not coming back. It’s been two days.” Nefar said, his black trousers brushing the edge of the bed. My eyes squinted, trying to focus on the design of his pants: crease-cut, pin-striped. But his face.. I didn’t risk goading him by trying to face him.

“You hurt her; that glass went right through her wrist. You could’ve killed her. She could’ve been mine.” Nefar said. The tsk tsk tsk of the lighter whispered as he lit his first cigarette, the one of many that would taunt me.

“It was an accident, I just broke.. I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Sobs bled from my heart, through my heart, onto my sleeve.

Every night afterwards, I saw Aisling, her eyes folding into that beautiful smile. Her hair is brown, blonde, and auburn. Orange flecks of gold showered her face, and they danced off and began twinkling in the background.

And that cold, cold hand would fix onto my skull, pushing me further into the grey midst. It was always 4 or 5 in the morning. When the lights bled in through the windows, only a sliver of light was considered dawn.

“It was a mistake, it was a mistake.” The pressure of his hand pushed me further, suppressing the curdle his enjoyment in his chest.

“Hm, hm. A mistake that cost you everything.”

Aisling, orange, light, darkness, Aisling, orange, light, orange, Aisling. Every morning, it would be a symphony; then a crescendo, a melting darkness, a sinking vat of despair, dripping out of Prince Afar as he woke me again.

Until he broke me again.

“You know, you’ve ruined her life,” He said. I tried to raise my head, but his fingers clasped my neck.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She tried driving to work this morning, and with her hand still healing, she slipped. Plummeted the nose of her car right into the creek…”

“What-is she okay?!” Panic rose in my throat, making it hard for me to swallow. Guilt then hit me with the realisation that if I were there, I could’ve driven her to work, like a true man. If I hadn’t lost control, she wouldn’t be in danger.

Hopelessness filled me, but that cold hand that once submerged me lifted me to face him.

He told me Aisling was still alive.

Prince Nefar showed me his face, or at least the form of a face; it was darkness, but full of emotion. His eyes were blue-grey.

“There’s a way to make it up, well, at least make her life better. And stop me from getting her next,” He snarled.

Nefar told me about how I could pay off my debt - to relive the moment I destroyed her every day, and every ounce of pain I felt would remove hers. I didn’t even know where he would take me, or what I’d be doing.

But I’m here.

A cold cell, an imprisonment of my own mind. It’s the price of guilt, shame and mistakes.

I’ve been here, in this grey tomb for..I’m not sure. Days, months? The trade is that I relive the same day that everything went wrong, and every ounce of pain I feel, that’s the pain that I take away from Aisling.

The hum of the tank begins at the usual time, I’ve been told it's around 8pm. The slosh of the amber liquid hits the side of the glass true as it begins pouring from the top. 2L of liquid, my pain, is enough to tide me over to the next day. At the end of the shift, usually an 8-10 hour download of the day that ruined everything, or a series of days depending, Prince Nefar usually comes out to evaluate our performance and let us know how our loved ones, or our victims, are doing.

The clinging of his cane hits the metal bars, one by one, he’s coming. Across from me is Reg, another captive. That’s the thing about this place, that you don’t suffer alone, but you know the stories of others too. Reg has to face the death of these children in a car accident, 2 of them died, the other 2 and his ex-wife still live. He spends most days recounting the day, as well as his phone addiction that caused everything.

His dark form appears in front of Reg’s cell. Reg is a shorter guy, and this place has made him look delicate; his arms are made of bare-boned muscle. He’s sitting, leaning against his bed frame, he’s surely crying, still crying. Amber liquid is overflowing from his canister. Prince Nafar widens his stance, crossing his arms. The back of his figure looms into his cell, his arms stretching to access the amber liquid from Reg’s canister.

His arm plucks out the canister that’s oozing, and his face cracks back, revealing a wide mouth that stretches across his face, pouring the liquid completely into it, chortling as he swallows the whole lot.

“For that, you can take half a day off tomorrow.” He says, his voice is the usual thick, sinister tone. Reg hangs his head, like all the energy has been sucked dry.

“Tell me, why is it that your children’s tears taste the sweetest?” Prince Nefar asks as he places the canister.

Reg groans, then lets out a cry, tears streaming down his face. He smacks his fist on the concrete, but barely makes an impact before he sinks back against his bed.

Nefar spins toward me with an accursed smile, polished black boots scuffing slowly. Everything he does is sinister and dramatic.

“Easton, " he says, prolonging every consonant.

I stand up from the bed to face him. I hand him the canister.

“Thank you, Easton,” He says, unclipping the lid of the vile.

“Did she have a good day?” I ask Nefar.

He plunges my eyes with his empty socket, the same red hue staring into me. He’s curious. I don’t often start a conversation with him.

“It was, so so….. After I consume your sweet sacrifice, I’ll be sure to spare her from any harassment or intrusive thoughts. Will be sure to steer reckless drivers away from her direction also.” He says, pouring the liquid into his gullet.

The next day

An orange pill appears on my bedside under the dim light that shows me it’s waking time. I swallow it and allow the memory to occur.

It starts every time. It’s a positive memory of Aisling, her face, her freckles, and the stars dancing, and it begins.

Our townhouse feels real, but it isn’t. I look at the clock, and it’s 4am. The wood panelling reflects the moonlight from the front windows. She always does that, Aisling, leaves the curtains open so she can see the headlights pour in.

She’s in the kitchen, hunched over a barstool. I walk to her, of course, she can’t see me. I brush her auburn curls from her forehead, and she blows out the hair from her face. Her eyes are swelling with tears. She’s refreshing my location, but nothing is turning up. She’s taking another drink of her mock-gin. A sharp stab lodges in my chest. Pain is swelling; a healthy slosh of pain will be administered today.

Metal clangs at the door, the keys. Even with the outdoor light, I still fumbled the keys, fumbled everything.

Clamouring inside, I see my shadow stumble under my own footing. Aisling has been crying; she is standing, shaking, crying in her dressing gown. I’m incoherent, drooling, drawling. I don’t need to confess. I’m melting into her. I’m kneeling at her feet. Of course she can tell, of course she knows. Of course.

My ears start ringing over the argument; they always do. Her tears, my tears. The fumbling. I can’t hear much, but I don’t block out the emotions, dwell because I need to feel the pain for this to work.

I see myself falling to my knees, bawling, and I’m hysterical. Aisling stills has it in her heart to comfort me, one of hands on my shoulder as she still holds her gin glass.

Then-

I batter away her hand, and she lifts it off me. She tries to bend down to me to look at my face, but I pat away her hand, shattering the glass in her hand. It’s when the glass breaks into her hand, and cutting her own, the screaming, that everything pours from her and from me. I close my eyes, not wanting to see this, but then, opening my eyes again, this is for her. Keep going.

Surveying the scene, I’m waiting for the apologies, the wrapping of the hand, the ambulance, the last time I ever saw her.

But the scene is completely paused. I look up at the scene, and it’s frozen. I’m holding my shirt in Aisling’s hand.

The front door opens. A taller, around 7-foot-tall person opened the door. A pure, yellow gleam pours out onto the scene, almost blinding me.

Light flows from within him, and his smile fills the place completely. Love emanates from him, filling his eyes, smile, and feet.

I stare, stunned. He stands at the door.

‘I’m Prince Harmon. Follow me.” He ushers, offering his hand, not walking towards me, but standing at the door. Even though he’s there, I don’t feel the sense of intrusion.

My mind flickers to when Prince Nefar found me, how he submerged me. But now,

Prince Harmon makes me feel like I’ve got nothing to hide, nothing to pay for.

It feels real, it feels like peace. It feels like safety. But how could it be mine? How could he be here for me? In this. Bewilderment brushes me as I realise that I am in my daily simulation, and wonder how Prince Harmon got here.

“What is the price?” I ask, taking a step forward.

“Your price has been paid. And so has Aisling’s.” He says, beaming at me. But his eyes are particularly fierce, the deepest blue, clarity and certainty cutting through them.

“I will reveal everything,” he gestures, now turning towards the door.

I run to the door and follow him through, and there’s nothing but white. He’s wearing a beige robe, tied together with a brown rope. Sandals are on his feet. Could this really be Prince Harmon? Did he really pay the price to Prince Nefar?

We walk continuously into a white void.

“What is this, what is this nothing?” I say, looking at more reflections of nothing.

“This... is our relationship with each other.” He says, now walking beside me.

“There’s nothing..” I say, then reflect. I’ve heard of Prince Harmon. People worship him.

“I’ve heard things about you and how much you do for people. But you didn’t ever do anything for me.” I say, my heart now growing cold. So does the atmosphere, bitter.

“I was always with you, Easton. I never left you. But I can only lead those who choose to follow me.” He says, levelled, kind, stable.

“If you’ve always been with me, then show me. Show me you were there.” I say, heat flushing my face.

Looking into his eyes, the scene around me blurs and spins, and I grab his shoulders, trying to hold steady with the stream of colours and noises.

The scene stops, and we’re at the front door of a brown door. Familiarity strikes me; this is my childhood home.

“Yes, it is,” Prince Harmon says, gesturing.

“Would you like to go inside?” He asks.

I nod, apprehension fills me as I turn the brass handle.

We flash through the house and are on the corner of the lounge-kitchen arrangement. My mother is huddled over the coffee table near the amber-lit lamp. She’s in tears. My fourteen-year-old self is comforting her, stroking her frail hair.

Prince Harmon stands, providing me comfort, as I know what happens next. It was almost a routine.

The front door bursts open, and a menacing frame of my frail yet gnarled father stumbles in. Just like a bull, he sees red; he sees anger. Nothing even has to be said, or anything going wrong; he just needs to be out long enough to get ideas on what is wrong with everything but him.

This time, I remember it was my mother crying, her sadness provoked him. Yelling and thrashing ensued, while my mother remained limp and drained. My father grabbed the glass vase and started holding it above his head.

I see my past self get up abruptly, trying to protect my mother from the oncoming carnage.

But then, the scene freezes. Another version of Prince Harmon appears, a weapon of light. He stands in front of younger me, holding his arms out in a T-shape. The scene continues slowly as my father smashes the vase in front of my mother and me.

Glass glimmers as it shatters from the floor, yet instead of flying into my mother or me, the glass shards hit the sackcloth and the skin of Prince Harmon, who continues to stand in front. His teeth grit as blood pours from him, but the blood quickly fizzles into light and melts from him.

Suddenly, Prince Nefar comes from the front door. A dark cloud surrounds my father as Nefar comes from behind him. The hairs on my back stand up, but Prince Harmon assures me that this is the past and that I’m safe with him.

“No matter how much you try to protect him, he will be mine!!” Prince Nefar snarls, hissing at Prince Harmon.

However, Prince Harmon begins to grow taller and taller until he’s barely in the house. A lightening rod appears in his right hand, and he strikes Prince Nefar right in the head, causing him to dissipate into a shadowy mist on the ground.

“The weapon may be formed, but you will not prosper against him. For I have great plans for him!” Prince Harmon thunders, his voice filling the house, causing the house to tremble.

I clasp my eyes shut, the glory and highness of Prince Harmon wrecking me. All of a sudden, I’m not feeling worthy to be in the presence of royalty. The emotions and the realisation of the event cause me to crumple, and I find myself bent over, my face to the ground. My heart is thumping in my ears.

I look up from my knees, observing that we’re in a park next to my house, the wind is gentle now, and there is a sunrise, brimming from the horizon.

“Easton, I have been warring for you, your entire life.” Prince Harmon is looking at the sunrise, the orange making him look like a fire. I breathe heavily.

“I’ve loved you as my own and protected you from the darkness. There’s no pain, no experience, that my existence has not experienced that can’t cover you.”

“But what about what I’ve done to Aisling? And I’m working Nefar, trying to cover my debt to her life. I’m guilty!!” I say, despair crushing me.

“I have paid your debt; you just need to accept that I’ve paid your debt. I’ve paid for the pain, I’ve paid your deal with Nefar, I’ve overcome it all because I am.” He says, his voice is like thunder.

I stop. “What about her hand, the car crash? You will make sure she’s safe from now on?” I ask.

“Yes. She has followed me; everything has recently brought her closer to me.”

“Prince Nefar is a liar. All he tells are lies. He didn’t stop any car crash; he tried to cause it. I protected Aisling and your unborn child within her.” He says. Surprise fills me, she was pregnant?

“Those who are my people, who live and fight for the kingdom of light, and not the kingdom of darkness, they have me, so they always have the truth with them, if they choose. No matter the battle, a car crash, an argument, or devastation, with me, in my kingdom, they have won the war.”

Hope and light finally brim within me. This could finally be over, all of it. I could give it to Him. Prince Harmon. I’ve been living in the wrong kingdom the whole time; nothing was working out. But now, it really could be okay.

“What does this mean for me?” I ask, elation growing. Prince Harmon holds my shoulder, his smile filling me.

“This is an invitation, and an invitation to freedom. And an invitation to forgiveness, to love, and to life.”

“You chose to follow me, and you can walk out of your bondage to Nefar; you’re free.”

I feel the words I accept ring in my heart as I wake up in my old cell. Golden, glaring armour fits onto my frame, and I get up immediately.

A sword, just as golden and luminescent, is propped up against the cobblestone wall. I hold it and begin searing through the iron bars, the heat creating a blistering sound of freedom.

I step out, peace overwhelming me.

My cell neighbour, Reg, looks up from his crumpled frame, awe and hope filling him in a way I’ve never witnessed.

“How did you get saved?”