Author: Doctor Limone PM
Just something I wrote on a rather cold late-night stroll.Rated: Fiction K - English - Horror - Words: 287 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 01-19-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3093452
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The townspeoples' whispers are true; I have come to fear my own shadow.
No, before you label me as mad, please hear out my reasons. I once loved it as myself - something with my own image, as it were - providing only an outline, but no detail. Obscuring the facts and figures, and leaving the rest to imagination, just as, in my youth, I came to love mystery. The allure of never being quite sure of the truth, and captivating us in its own right.
Now, they mimic my movements, much like a reflection in a mirror that way, though I know that image to be veritably my own. No; when a shadow traces out my movements with its shrouded hands, when it treads my own footsteps with hushed movements - I see a mockery, a taunting, that tries its very best to haunt me as a being that creeps in the gaps between illumination and shrouds itself in darkness.
When I scream, it screams - if only as a vain gaping of the mouth for the sake of taking my image. When I run, we run together, and I find that no matter how hard I try, it is desperate to cling to me; hanging by my side and wearing on my freedom.
Where do they go to sleep when the light of day comes, and when do they break for sustenance? I imagine that the night, no; darkness is their parade, and when that time comes, they are free to sift and blend among their own kind and perform their darkened parodies of our own performances.
I wonder when the curtain will draw. Honestly, I'm can't say I'm quite fond of either of the two.