On a Monday morning when all souls are dripping with tiredness, the shadows show it by lurking behind them in a stooped posture. The shadow of a guy followed the same drill as I saw it, printed on a screen of stonewall when a girl walked out of an alley with her engrossed in a book.
As the two crossed paths, externally the man watched the girl from his side eye for a fraction of a second and moved on. But his shadow imprinted on his dirty intention toward the lass and started teasing, pulling at the skirt of the girl’s shadow. A complete show of intention unfurled before my eyes, leaving me scared and breathless.
As though that was not enough, later that day I saw a man crossing a street where a vendor was selling corns in a cup. His intentions bursted to full, showing how he wished to intimidate the poor vendor’s shadow, busy in cupping corns and squeezing fresh lemons on to it, and kick his cart to the end of the street.
It is scary how people cannot bottle their sentiments of rage and wish to pour all of it on innocent people. Just like a couple crossing paths with me, both the shadows were clearly upset when the male’s shadow flared with revenge and anger to pull the other’s hair and physically abuse his partner’s shadow.
Having a window to one’s raw intentions scalds like walking on a path laden with hot coals. But this is just a compromise I have made as a promise to thrive amidst the shadows.
Until one day, all sense evaporates and I decide to walk straight into the devil’s trap. Initially sundown seems nothing familiar to the shades of bizarre. Terror arises when the shadows akin to my lonely shadow start to floor closely on the tips of my heels. The shivers become helpless as the twin-looking shadow starts gasping and looking around like my shadow, revealing my intention.
It’s only rare that I see my shadow but now that I have walked straight in the hours of the sundown, a gang of look alike shadows follows. And I have blindly led myself to the bed of lives outside the town. An abandoned stonewall stands near the river. And on its screen, my gauged-out eyes and sweaty face see the stage of my death being laid.
My shadow stops panicking and running and draws a heavy sword that it aims to its own neck. A few paces away, other shadows draw out similar swords, only to lie on my neck instead of theirs and a boom of laughter erupts through the silence.
All rays of lights are snuffed, I am not sure if it is the night that has befallen or the dark shadows have sealed and shut off any drop of light with their black limbs. The laughter doubles and resonates deep down in my bones as the tip of the silver weapons start to pierce through my shadow’s neck. Or maybe it is my neck as I feel a trickle of blood crawling down it. It isn’t long before the trickle turns into a red river that I can feel on my fingers. I can feel my eyes growing hot and I loose all my balance, hitting the soft mud.
The metal smell of blood overpowers my senses and I can feel blood furling in my mouth, trying to escape from my lips while I try to swallow it down. Pitch black paints my surroundings and my limbs shake as death nears when suddenly I feel a small cold hand on my right cheek.
Within seconds, all the shadows disperse into tiny threads that vanish in the vicinity. A pair of blue eyes stare into my eyes. Only my shadow pants for breath, looks around and runs away. Darkness erases and an orange-pink sky emerges. I see that the innocent pair of eyes belong to the child and his cold hand just brought me back to reality.
He smiles gently and walks away. He must have been following me out of town and perhaps he witnessed my death.
I struggle for breath, I touch my neck but there is not a single drop of blood oozing out of a single scratch on my neck. I sit up, bewildered, wondering who the child was and how he dragged me back to life.
