Darkness ends. I walk in the light again.

A blanket of snow covers everything. Tall city buildings line both sides of the street reaching into the low ceiling of clouds above me.

I’m cold and numb, fingers and feet. I look at my hands. They’re large with rough skin. I’m a man then, not a woman or a child. That will make the task easier at least.

A mist billows from my mouth when I laugh. I can feel the fresh bite of winter on my face.

Drawing a breath of crisp polluted air, I appreciate this first moment, capturing it for later when the darkness returns. Sensations are the things I crave most in the other place.

There’s a struggle for control. This one is fighting the possession more than most.

I am aware of the man’s memories. Only six months have passed since my last walk in the light. In the blackness, the intervals always feel much longer.

I turn his head from side-to-side, searching for that distinctive vibe. The one I seek is across the street, oblivious to my presence. A tremor passes through me. I feel that familiar connection with the one who is marked.

She has her forehead pressed against the glass of a jewelry shop window, dreaming of what will be. For her, there is only endless darkness. That I can attest to. Her demise is my single mission for walking in the light.

Searching through the memories of the one I inhabit, I find a deep-rooted fear of aliens from other planets. He is a man of science, not faith. Religion holds no place in his life, yet there is a belief in monsters from another world.

Is that where I’m from? Is that what I am? These are questions without answers that have plagued my existence from a time before man. A sense of other worlds lies in my collected memories, long before I inhabited humans, but not a time before my task was new.

She’s moving. The crowd isn’t heavy, mostly morning shoppers. They take their time, strolling, chatting, filling their lives and sharing their togetherness with images and sensations that give them happiness in their brief existence.

I cross the street between two parked cars. The left leg jerks spasmodically. My vessel claws for control. An impatient driver toots his horn.

Things change over time. When they lived in caves and chased mammoths, they were easy to control. Even when they created cities and first brought electricity into the homes, their will dissolved under my presence.

It’s not so with present-day men and women, a cynical bunch. There was a time when revealing I am a devil or a demon would shatter their superstitious minds, sending them to quake in the deepest recesses, allowing me to take control. Not this one, though...and the growing number before him. Science, that master of current progress and reason, is my greatest foe in this day and age.

Blonde, tall, and wearing a long black coat, my target is easy to track. Her gait is slow, relaxed. She swings a white bag by the strap—a calm moment before her storm.

The first pains begin, along both shoulders to the elbows. It’s not much, barely sandpaper across the nerves. It will get worse. It always does. I enjoy this first small itch before the pain blooms to an unbearable level.

Irony casts its unwanted hand, yet I have never come to appreciate its dark humour: with the death of the marked one, the burning pain that consumes this body will end. Then I am returned to the endless darkness, until a time I wake again.

A short cry erupts from my lips. It’s the host wanting his body back, still fighting for control.

Shocked, people stare, but quickly hurry on their way when I look in their direction.

The blonde doesn’t turn.

Time to put distractions aside. I send a strong mental image of an angular grey face, large black almond eyes and a small mouth on an alien without a nose. It’s enough. The man I inhabit finally breaks, fleeing to the backwaters of his mind and giving me full control.

My target disappears around a corner.

Increasing my stride, I overtake an elderly couple locked arm-in-arm. I can’t help but stare as I pass, envying the simple comfort they share in that physical embrace—so tactile. I am unique in this world. Never will I share a feeling like theirs.

Turning the corner, I slow again. The blonde has stopped to buy coffee from a street vendor. The smell of roasted beans elicits a chain of pleasured memories from thousands of past hosts.  I pause and draw a deep and savouring breath.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I look at the closest window and the human shell who stares back at me.

Men, women, and children—I’ve inhabited them all—husbands, wives, sons, and daughters.

I check on the blonde. She gives me a hesitant smile as our eyes meet. I smile back, a simple action. She resumes watching the man making her coffee.

Faces...too many to count…so many I’ve worn. A smile is universal amongst humans, an action I can work to my advantage. A smile can get me close to the marked one, close enough most times to wrap them tight in their last embrace before they endure their own endless darkness.

The white bag swings and the blonde is in motion again.

There was a time when I did wonder, when I would question them, search them, feel their bodies all over before finally ending their life. What had they done to be marked? What made them different from the rest of humanity? Did they know who had placed their mark upon them? Do they know why I am compelled to seek them out?

Never have I found an answer from them or their possessions.

The marked humans remain as ignorant as I am on the fact of their importance and the bond we share. Now I just accept my place in the skein of existence and enjoy the brief journey I make each time in the light.

The snow has started again. Little flecks powder my face. White fragments settle on the shoulders of the blonde’s black coat and in her golden hair. She stops ahead of me on the corner, waiting for the lights to change.

The sudden agony takes my breath away. My legs shake as rivers of pain flow like molten lava down the insides of my thighs. Tears blur my vision.

Time is such a precious commodity, a luxury given in a pinch to us all. Such a short walk I’m allowed within the light.

With the will of eternity behind me, I manage to straighten and calm the shakes. The lights have changed, and the procession of pedestrians navigate their way towards the other side. Hurrying, each step like wading through liquid fire, I manage to cross before the lights change again.

From here, the street drags itself up a long, steep hill towards a park. At least this body is adult. I don’t know how I would manage the climb if I inhabited a child with short legs.

I have to pause and breathe deeply, savouring the throbbing pain bubbling in my crotch. The sensation is agony, but I will take anything and cherish how alive it makes me feel in this finite moment.

The invisible pull from the marked one draws me ever onwards. The fire within this body flares the further we move apart.

A groan of mixed despair and pain escapes my lips. I fix my eyes on the blonde and resume the chase. I manage one foot in front of the other.

People move out of my way while I weave unsteadily along the sidewalk. The blonde’s pace allows me to close the distance but leaves me panting and sweating despite the chill air.

I could reach out and touch her now. Perfume floats in gentle waves from the woman, a rose scent, sweet and fresh. That freshness won’t last. Little time is left for either of us in the light.

This close to the marked one, the pain is bearable again. For a moment, we can both enjoy this morning walk. It will last as long as I can tolerate the internal fire.

Centuries of practice have made me a master of dealing in pain. Master I must be if am ever to cast an eye of wonder on this tapestry of light, rich in sights and sensations.

As I watch the blonde walk, images of a laughing woman and children’s faces flash before my eyes. It’s memory spillage from my current host. The man I inhabit has a wife and three sons. Two of the boys are at home and the oldest is away at school. None of them will understand their father’s actions here today.

In all the hosts I’ve worn, there’s never been a chance to know what happens to them once I’m gone. When I leave their bodies, in the ones who survive, do their minds return?

Through the countless memories I’ve collected, I know of man’s love for myths and legends. Humans reported possession long before they learned to write their spoken words.

A breeze stirs the air, flicking my hair. I pull the zipper down on the dark green jacket I’m wearing and expose my chest to the chill wind. Opening my mouth, I let the swirling snowflakes dissolve on my protruding tongue.

The pain flares again, dripping molten fingers that tear into my chest. My breathing is now a laboured chore. I stumble a few steps.

The darkness is drawing near again, waiting for the moment to descend. Its eagerness hums on the morning wind.

With both hands clenched, I cast aside my pleasure and search the area around us with a critical eye. We are still twenty meters from the next intersection and almost one hundred to the park. It will need to be soon. Each step feels like walking on white-hot skewers, metal splinters stabbing deeply into my sensitive flesh.

A bus shelter crouches beside the road before the next intersection. Inside, huddled against the morning chill, five or six men and women wait for the next ride, destinations other places before their own journey finally ends.

The white bag swinging is hypnotic...a constant swaying back and forth...an endless cycle. It mirrors my own existence, except the blonde may choose to stop the bag at any time. I have no say in my perennial birth-death cycles.

The shelter spews forth its occupants. A bus descends the hill towards their stop. A man brushes past. He hurries to make the bus. My side flares where we connect.

Fear churns my stomach. I realize the blonde may also dash after the ride. In the state I’m in, there isn’t much chance of chasing after her. The fire has reached all the way to my lips, toes and the very ends of my fingers. It burns with the heat of the sun.

The man’s energy started its rejection of me the moment our symbiotic relationship began. Like a foreign invader, the battle ensues until victory. On every occasion, my host’s energy has ejected me within half an hour, propelling me back into unending darkness…until the moment I awake and the cycle begins again.

She clutches her bag as the man runs by. I’m ready to reach out if she runs as well.

The moment is past and the bag returns to her side. She begins swinging it back and forth again.

For a moment, I watch as the bus swallows up the people who file inside. The running man makes it onboard. The metal beast pulls away from the stop. It blinks both square eyes at me as it brushes away the snow with its enormous wipers.

This is it. The method has presented itself. I increase my pace despite the biting pain. Wrapping my arms around the blonde’s waist, I pull her tight against me.

She screams and wriggles, kicking at my shins and trying to claw at my face.

This close to the marked one, a thrum like a plucked string vibrates through the whole of my body. I can’t help smiling. I pull her closer.

A man shouts. I see a broad-shouldered fellow rushing towards us. Mixed between the blonde’s scream and my own cry, the man shouts again.

I launch the two of us from the sidewalk into the path of the oncoming bus.

Everything slows. We arc through the air. My hand shifts to grab the blonde’s hair. I shove her head under the large tire as we hit the road and slide into the vehicle’s path.

Whiteness overwhelms me in a flash. A burst of energy explodes like a supernova. Every particle of me feels charged as the marked one’s life-force passes through me.

Ecstasy! This is my Nirvana.

The intensity of this moment is the jewel that will shine on in the darkness ahead.

The light ends. Darkness begins anew.