Weak in body and mind, my petitions to heaven returned unanswered. The heavy wooden door of my house remained locked to protect me from perdition and so I served my youth in ennui.

Of course, there were times in that cloistered life when curiosity tempered despair and I believed myself capable of undoing the latch that secured the door. I yearned to steal a glimpse of things one should savor in youth when callow blood rages with delight. Yet, the dread of opening doors terrified me.

Years passed. I grew old inside a body no longer yielding power to censure curiosity. With all my strength, I opened the door then squeezed through the crevasse and strolled along a path from my house toward the silent others.

I became a nightwalker. At the sounds of my footsteps, respectful crickets ceased their raspy chatter. The evening air felt crisp and clean and liberating as I scuffed my heels along the moonless way. I knew nothing else to compare that to, so pronounced it ecstasy, stopping before each house to inhale the shadowy gardens illuminated by scattered lamps.

Infinite flowers swayed in Night’s muted colors, speaking to me in floral languages I understood. They were polite but troubled by the thought of losing eternity. I listened, unable to offer advice. 

The air turned cold and heavy. Blossoms surrendered to the chill and pleaded with me to save them. How could I reveal the secret of life when I disguised it from myself? I explained to each fading petal my fear they were the first to leave Dream Town and we would all eventually follow. Hold on for as long as you can for your beauty is the salvation of man. What more could I say, knowing nothing of the happiness of flowers?

I passed the gardens on my return. The mist gathered each scent into a bouquet and handed it to me. I held it as long as I could, then exhaled, craving more with each breath to sustain me in everlasting Night. After all, I deserved such compensation. I had paid it forward in my youth.

The crickets resumed their raucous serenade. I slipped past the door and lay on my satin bed, staring at the frescoes carved into the low ceiling. Night’s perfume brought peaceful sleep with the promise that each awakening would beget a new beginning, by the authority vested in dreams.