YahuwahSaves

Chapter 2: Nightmares of Shadows and Light

In the dim recesses of his mind, Yehoshua Adeyemi found himself entwined in the tendrils of a recurring nightmare that haunted him once a month. The scene always began the same way: a shadowy living room enveloped in darkness, the only light filtering in through an open window that beckoned a cool breeze. In this strange yet familiar space, he felt comforted as he lay cradled in the arms of an unseen woman. There was a profound sense of safety in her embrace, a warmth that contrasted sharply with the darkness surrounding them. She was a comforting presence, and for a fleeting moment, he felt deeply wanted, loved, and fiercely protected. Yet, as much as he longed to identify the woman, she remained a mystery to him—not his eccentric aunt, but someone whose face eluded his memory.

As the dream progressed, the atmosphere shifted ominously. A figure emerged from the shadows: a man clad in a dark cloak that billowed around him like smoke. The man's presence exuded a sense of foreboding, and Yehoshua's heart raced in response to the tension that filled the room.

Suddenly, the scene morphed into a vivid spectacle. Before him soared a majestic giant white eagle, and atop it sat a man draped in a brilliant red cloak adorned with silver stripes. The sight was breathtaking; the man's presence radiated both power and authority. Just as swiftly, the man pulled forth a sword that shimmered with a golden-white light, illuminating the scene with an ethereal glow. The harmonious sound of angels singing enveloped Yehoshua, filling the room with a celestial melody, and transporting him into a joyous reverie.

But like a monstrous shadow lurking in the corners of his dream, the tranquility was shattered. The scene flipped back to the dark living room. The cloaked man, now menacing and wielding his sword, unleashed a torrent of hellish black fire that flickered with rage. Screams of terror echoed in Yehoshua's ears, piercing through the comforting embrace of the mysterious woman.

Caught between the warmth of safety and the chilling presence of danger, Yehoshua's heart pounded violently against his chest. As the cacophony of anguish engulfed him, the dream spiraled into chaos, and he jolted awake, breathless and drenched in cold sweat. The terror lingered long after he opened his eyes, a grim reminder of the relentless cycle of nightmares that drew him into its twisted dance each month.

Yehoshua Adeyemi shot up from his bed, gasping for air, the remnants of his nightmare still swirling in his mind. His heart pounded in his chest as if it, too, was trying to escape the terrors that had clutched him so tightly. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and let his hands fall into his lap, trembling. He felt the weight of the night press down on him, though the silence was peaceful now, the horrors had left a lingering chill in the air.

He glanced to his side, where the dim glow of his clock rested. 3:00 AM. The time, mysterious and unsettling, as if the universe itself was watching him from beyond the veil of sleep. Yehoshua sighed deeply and lay back against his pillow, his thoughts racing like wild horses, hard to catch, hard to tame.

He turned his gaze toward the window. Beyond the glass, the night sky was a canvas of shimmering stars, each one twinkling like a silent hymn, sung by the cosmos itself. The full moon, round and pure, bathed the world in a silver light. Its glow stretched across the earth, illuminating the sleeping city below with an ethereal calm. Yehoshua stared at it, his mind suddenly shifting to something deeper, something ancient in the core of his soul.

He sighed, eyes fixed on the skyline."I don't get it," he murmured quietly. "How the world got all this beauty...but people still out here moving ruthless?

He gazed at the heavens, awestruck by the beauty of it all. The stars, the moon, the quiet rustle of leaves in the wind. It all seemed to live in harmony—untouched by the greed, hate, and violence that plagued humanity. The animal kingdom roamed freely, living out its existence in cycles of instinct, untouched by the malice of man. And yet, humankind, blessed with reason and understanding, seemed to be the most lost of all creatures.

"I just don't get it, man?"  Yehoshua wondered, his soul aching.

"We was born from the same soil, but we treat it—and each other—like we're strangers. Like we forgot how to live right... how to love... how to protect what was always meant to be ours."

His eyes fluttered closed as a heaviness washed over him again. Sleep pulled him back, slow and relentless, like the tide of a great ocean reclaiming what was momentarily lost to the shore. He sank into the deep, slipping into another realm, where the boundaries between dreams and reality blurred.

Yehoshua found himself standing on a hill at the edge of the world. Before him was the horizon, ablaze with the most magnificent sunset he'd ever seen. The sky bled in shades of gold, red, and violet, the sun sinking low as if descending into a sea of molten fire. The warmth of the scene filled his chest with a strange sense of peace, but also a great foreboding.

Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to a figure standing tall upon the crown of the Statue of Liberty, silhouetted against the dying light of the sun. A Black man, clothed in a brilliant white garment that shimmered like the stars, stood with his feet planted firmly on the monument's head. In his hand, he held a sword, unlike anything Yehoshua had ever seen. Its blade gleamed with ancient power, and inscriptions ran down its length in a language Yehoshua could not recognize—Egyptian or Hebrew perhaps—but he could not tell.

The wind whipped around the figure, yet he stood unwavering, an immovable force of strength and dignity, as if the universe had placed him there as a guardian. His face, though partly hidden in shadow, was unmistakably familiar. His hair was rich and coiled, his skin deep and dark—he looked like Yehoshua. No, more than that—he was Yehoshua, or at least, an older, more radiant version of him. A version he could barely comprehend, full of wisdom and power.

The sky above him opened, and from the split clouds emerged the most vivid, breathtaking rainbow. It arched across the heavens, its colors shining like celestial fire, casting a glow over the Black man on the Statue of Liberty. The light touched the sword, and for a moment, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Yehoshua stood frozen, breathless, as if witnessing something sacred, something not meant for mortal eyes. His heart pounded, and a strange mix of awe and terror gripped him.

"Is this... me?" Yehoshua thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure.

As if in response to his unspoken question, an eagle appeared out of nowhere, its wings slicing through the sky with grace and power. It circled the Statue of Liberty as if drawn to the Black man standing above, before gliding toward Yehoshua with the majesty of a king returning home. It landed gently on his shoulder, its talons light, almost imperceptible, yet Yehoshua could feel the immense strength coiled within its form.

He wanted to speak, to ask who this glorious figure was, but the words caught in his throat. The Black man turned his head slightly, just enough for Yehoshua to catch a glimpse of his face. His features, though older and more weathered, were unmistakably his own.

Yehoshua swallowed hard, eyes locked on the truth before him.
"Is this who I become?" he asked himself."A glimpse of my future... or a shadow of what the world already forgot?"

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

Yehoshua was ripped from the dream, the pounding sound echoing through his skull like the final heartbeat of a dying god. He jolted awake, his eyes snapping open, the image of the Black man and the eagle still burning behind his eyelids. His heart raced, his breath ragged as if the dream itself had taken a piece of his soul and left him gasping in its wake.

"WAKE UP!! IT'S 8:00 IN THE MORNING, YOU STUPID IDIOT!! BREAKFAST SHOULD'VE BEEN READY BY NOW!!" The sharp, biting voice of his aunt cut through the remnants of the dream like a cold knife.

The warmth and majesty of the vision were gone, replaced by the harshness of his reality. He sat up, staring blankly at the wall as his aunt's voice rang through the small house, each word a reminder of the world he lived in. The world where cruelty, not beauty, reigned.

Yehoshua sighed, dragging himself out of bed, his mind still swirling with the vision. For a brief moment, he had tasted something divine, something far beyond this life. But now, it was back to the mundane, the cruel. Back to the noise of a world that refused to see the beauty in itself.

But deep in his heart, he knew the Black man in his dream was waiting for him. Waiting for the day when he would rise, sword in hand, ready to claim the light within him and fight for a world that could be beautiful once again.