The Shadow

1640 Words7 Pages
Critical judgements sent finely curved blades down the line of the spine, parting the softest flesh and baring the bones to sight, the shivers splitting the entire world apart, though from the beginning they sprang simply from a single fractured heart. Weakness to one, to the only, and to all, miserable wretches and painted choir halls, lipstick hanging on the edges of a smile, inviting the body to stay for just a small while, cellophane grins and hearts made of glass, fingers coiling gently, yet holding then fast, one then to conquer and another to keep - bringing the wishful down for the silence of dream. Sleeping was an escape the masses were content to find, a portion sectioned from their routine bound lives, the familiarity of eyelids shielding, original thoughts pouring from a form still sleeping. To part oneself from emotion, to hollow out the insides, to face the world with no more for those smiles, to harden the exterior as the inside forsake, to give into the new world building itself upon hate. Not to far then to walk to seek supple damnation, to give into the direness of temptation, to become the monster that stalked ruined halls, to form into the shadow spread shallow to the wall. Endless to degrade into those with sharpened teeth, lingering around corners hollowed, like a twisted vision of hide and go seek - wanting the blood, the bodies, the flesh, moreso than the contents of supplies or the head. To become a figment of a man, was to wander without aim through the oblivion sands ... On the back of the thoughts these thinkings lathered thick, without true name, but very nature left to strike sick. Mind wandered far, as though in leaving small form, trailing upward, high across cavas skies, sweeping low and aim... ... middle of paper ... ...oice was the smallest, barest whisper, turning her head just enough to offer it to him, eyes still pressed to the dog. Finally, she moved, glancing behind, the smallest opening showing a way through - to the other side. “Come.” The request was soft, not a command, as she moved toward the other end. The way around was safer for them, for now, in the least. The blush burned true upon her cheeks, hand placed now to the wall, as though to guide her along as her pulse sang a tune into her ears. Was it better to die upon the streets than to live the last days starving for anything to eat? Was it better to die at the wrong end of the gun, or to allow oneself to simply give up? Was it better to become a monster than to be something more, something less - - a weakling, an innocent. Mouse was but a thorn in the side. Sooner or later the world would eat her alive.

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