06-25-2017, 07:18 AM
Reflection
----
The Man sits alone in his living room, back against the soft cushions of his chair, hands dangling limply over the armrests. In his right he holds a glass of wine, so dark it might've been purple.
But in the shadows it is black.
The house is dark. The noise of a ticking clock is dissonant and fuzzy, like hearing underwater. Tick, tock, tick, tock over and over. Time is moving towards something.
"Daddy, I'm scared. The dark scares me."
Who said that? A son? A daughter? Himself?
Time moves to the beginning.
The Man sits in his chair, staring ahead at the dark before his hazy eyes. He can imagine the shadows shifting and twisting like fabric.
He blinks.
The Man looks, mind to the blackness as it concentrates in on upon itself until it too is man shaped. The Man feels a hollow jolt in his sternum and he suddenly remembers he has a heart. The littlest movement so sudden his glass of wine shatters on the floor, seeping into the dull carpet, staining it with abyss.
The Shadow steps out from its womb and for this exact moment in fresh time the Man and the Shadow exist in the same place. The Shadow regards the Man with its blank face, its body the perfect image of a normal flesh and blood man.
Anybody?
The Man watches the Shadow walk soundlessly to the door. He absently notes that the clock has stopped ticking.
The Shadow methodically unlocks the door, pausing once to grip the cold handle.
The Man watches. The Shadow opens the door, spilling white into the house. But the white is tainted as the Shadow greets it, and with one step it is outside.
The clock ticks away once more.
----
The Man sits alone in his living room, back against the soft cushions of his chair, hands dangling limply over the armrests. In his right he holds a glass of wine, so dark it might've been purple.
But in the shadows it is black.
The house is dark. The noise of a ticking clock is dissonant and fuzzy, like hearing underwater. Tick, tock, tick, tock over and over. Time is moving towards something.
"Daddy, I'm scared. The dark scares me."
Who said that? A son? A daughter? Himself?
Time moves to the beginning.
The Man sits in his chair, staring ahead at the dark before his hazy eyes. He can imagine the shadows shifting and twisting like fabric.
He blinks.
The Man looks, mind to the blackness as it concentrates in on upon itself until it too is man shaped. The Man feels a hollow jolt in his sternum and he suddenly remembers he has a heart. The littlest movement so sudden his glass of wine shatters on the floor, seeping into the dull carpet, staining it with abyss.
The Shadow steps out from its womb and for this exact moment in fresh time the Man and the Shadow exist in the same place. The Shadow regards the Man with its blank face, its body the perfect image of a normal flesh and blood man.
Anybody?
The Man watches the Shadow walk soundlessly to the door. He absently notes that the clock has stopped ticking.
The Shadow methodically unlocks the door, pausing once to grip the cold handle.
The Man watches. The Shadow opens the door, spilling white into the house. But the white is tainted as the Shadow greets it, and with one step it is outside.
The clock ticks away once more.