When a specie bites a bit from the fruit of extinction, it dies fully and completely with the poison that spreads through the network of its veins. One sample, however, sample survives. It only begs for the same fate as its ancestors, but destiny nourishes it in its lap and trains it to survive; to survive and live a life of torture and self-agony.
I am that last bit of my kind, living with a bright glow of a flame on the outside, only to consume myself wholly from the inside. I am a vein with no fluid of life flowing through me. I am a scream that dies before it reaches its zenith. For what I see is only something visible to me. Nobody else in the current lap of time can see it.
The shadows taunt me, they tease me and whisper threats to fold me within their dark wings. The shadow-keepers are long gone. They used to tame the wild shadows from reflecting the true intentions of a person. In any era comes a time when the crowd is flocked with intentions of a gruesome crime, dirty tricks, and villainous acts. In that very era of the timeline, my ancestors, the shadow-keepers who saw real intentions in the outline of shadows, lost their lives.
The shadows took over and blanketed them in a darkness of dirty deeds and doings of mankind. The horrible intentions that nobody of a pious heart could bear to see with his mortal eyes became regular scenes for them to see. Until finally, in the first quarter of the previous century mass graves of still bodies with empty eye sockets were found by the water bodies.
Alone in my anxiety, I see shadows mocking me and laughing at me. I was still a child when my family was brutally murdered, so only partial shadows were visible to me. But now, complete shadows play around me, dancing and twirling, showing people’s intentions.
There was only one bit of survival tip narrated to me by my great-great grandfather. His words echo still, “Rise and fall of the sun, don’t go out little one, for the shadows of the devil lurk in the valleys not afar from you.” The power of the shadows has substantially succumbed as their antagonists have jumped the great divide. But their powers still leave an intoxicating effect on my lone soul.
Even though my life is no more than a loose edge of sanity, slipping by each hour every day. I prefer sanity and madness tossing me around like a lifeless paper over a death of suffocation by the shadows. Thus, I have never had the guts to commit suicide by going out during the sundown and sunrise and let the shadows engulf me in a murderous trap.
Shadows draw their strength from the night leaving during the sunrise and from the incoming night during the sun down. The sun aids them too, so the shadows are the most generous and most powerful during these times. Lately, during the day, on the walls I witness shadows of intentions, bubbling in peoples’ hearts.
