The Light of Civilization (and the Shadows it Stole)

Before you, my life made sense.

It was natural to hunt at night. A flash of feathers and razor-sharp talons. A single swift blow, an all-encompassing pain, and then the calming invitation of joining the stillness of a cold, dead night. I was a pale-white reaper cloaked in darkness, unseen until the fate of my prey is sealed.

You should understand that the hunt was not a cruel act.

The hunt maintains our balance, of drawing the energy from sunlit days and warm blood and gifting it to the creatures of darkness. The sharp-eyed predators, the conniving scavengers, the steadfast decomposers. Nutrients filter and cycle through the world again and again. We provide for each other, life exchanged for death exchanged for life. Warmth inevitably embraces the cold. This is how we share. It is fair.

But you never understood that.

I met you on the coldest night of the year. You were illuminated in starlight, desperately lumbering through the glittering snow, wrapped in layers of stolen pelts and feathers. A creature of the light, fighting its hardest against the still.

But the pelts were not enough. They were wet. Your form was shivering and slouched, becoming stiller by the minute. You were clutching branches covered in ice and snow. From my roost, I gazed at you patiently. Waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for the take and give.

Then, a dazzling, angry spark. Somehow, a small blazing fire had been born. No… created, not born. It blinded me, I turned away from the pain. And when my eyes adjusted to the firelight, you were breathing in its smoke, leaning into its heat. Your chest fell and rose, and against all odds, never stopped.

Clever creature, I thought. Overcoming the cold is no easy feat.

I ignored you for the rest of the night, I had more souls to hunt. The forest was full of scampering mice and other small creatures, I had no need to waste time pondering over lost prey. I returned to my nest with a full belly and expected to sleep peacefully through the day. Closing my eyes, I surrendered myself to the blackness of slumber…

I awoke to an explosion.

Or at least I thought it was. I had never heard a louder sound, not even a bobcat’s scream or the roar of a rainstorm had even come close to the piercing reverb of this one. It bounced in my head, over and over, hammering, overwhelming. I wanted to scream over it, to try and gain control over the ringing in my mind, but I knew that would be dangerous. Instead, I observed.

It was day now, and from my nest I saw your form clearly advancing through beams of sunlight. But there were more of you this time. A handful of strange, upright creatures, pulling the bloodied bodies of creatures of the night and day alike in a basket that dragged in the snow behind you. Smoke oozed from a long, silver stick you held.

I was not worried for myself. Being a night hunter, I knew well that I had to be hidden in the daytime. My nest was high above you, cloaked in layers of sticks and leaves.

But the deer running below my tree was not so fortunate.

Another mind-rattling sound had it laying in a bloody heap of limbs. You swarmed its body, adding it to the pile.

Clever creature. I had never seen predators this successful before. I was not worried, for I foolishly believed that predators of the day and night would almost never meet.

Back then, I did not fully grasp the fragility of our balance. I did not understand the things that would happen next. I should have used my snow-white wings to fly to another forest, so that I should never see you again. But I was too proud. My instincts kept me tethered to my nest, even as you came back again and again. Even as the prey supply dwindled. Even as the forest became quieter and quieter, other than the ear-piercing sound of your hunting.

I admired you. What strong, dignified, creatures you must be, I thought. I saw you build a magnificent wooden den in the middle of a forest clearing. It was almost as tall as the trees, and I would often gaze at it in wonder. I wished I could build a nest so safe and sturdy and large, a nest that provided me with constant safety and darkness.

When you built more dens, I would often perch on their tops. I was grateful for this new vantage point. I was grateful for this new balance, even though my hunts were becoming more difficult.

I would leave my nest, silently watch from the tops of trees and your large dens and fall as fast and silent as a stone to collect my prey. I missed no opportunities. I still returned to my nest happy and full most nights, even as the rest of the forest shivered.

It was too late when I smelled the smoke.

I swooped away from my burning tree and nest. I was no stranger to fire, lightning would strike trees and burn patches of forest away, sometimes fires would dance and blaze to nothing all on their own. Such is the nature of things, I thought. I stood perched on a new tree, ready to wait out the blaze and build a new nest.

But then I saw you.

You did not run from the flames.

You held them and threw them into the inferno as it rose higher and higher, consuming the forest as creatures screamed, flew, and ran away, away, away. I thought back to that first night. The way you leaned into the flames, the way you exhaled smoke and heat.

You are no creature of the day, I realized. You were a new creature.

A creature of fire.

You fed the flames for weeks and weeks, guiding it to all sides of the forest, leaving only blackened ash behind. Prey hid, and they burned. They ran, and they burned. They screamed, and they burned. They tried to fly, and they fell, and they burned just as well. The air was choked with soot, I could not fly, I could not see, I could not breathe. Even the sun was reduced to a dim red orb, strangled by the clouds of ash that had overtaken the land.

No matter where I travelled, I could not escape your burning wrath. You were death in its purest form, a menacing reaper moving endlessly forward, a red form constantly warping and shifting in the heat haze.

Soon, the only remaining structure in sight was your dens. Everything else was soot and flames and strangulation. I swooped in and perched inside your shelter. It was dark, but the smoke never left my nose.

And now I nest here.

A prisoner in your den.

My new nest is made of straw. It is not that strong. If it were not for the surrounding walls, it would blow away in the storm. Some clever prey also made it here. They nest inside the walls and scurry to collect grain. They adapt to their circumstances. Such is the nature of things.

But it is not enough.

Each day I feel death creep closer and closer. Starvation is the cruelest death. It chips at the edge of your mind and weakens your body until it takes all your effort to stand. It is a death I wish on no other. Not even you.

Before I depart, I want to tell you about the balance.

I want you to understand the monstrous things you have done.

But most of all, I want you to understand the new world you have created. It is not one I understand, for me it is one of fire and light and starvation. But perhaps that is not what it means to you.

Human.

Promise me you will find your balance.

Do not burn yourself to ashes. Let yourself experience loss. You will find the world will give you just as much as it takes.

After all, no matter how bright your world becomes, your silhouette will always cast a shadow.