Shadow Cycle

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Each day the sun sets and the moon rises, darkness falling upon us all - and we have fear in the shadows.

Submitted: November 11, 2011

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Submitted: November 11, 2011




Once more it begins; as naturally as life itself will permit. From nothing I appear, freshly woken into this bustling world with the one true beacon just beginning to set on the verge of the horizon. The air grows cold around me as the warm beams of light fade from existence. In the sky I follow the thunderous clouds as they make their merging masquerade across the high tumultuous seas, blocking out any remnants of brilliance that shone high to the zenith. Shadows now rest upon the sparsely populated slopes of the land, in which I am presumed dormant by the weary minded – my very presence entering each thought they intern whilst in my strengthening grasp.

I yearn to creep further along the ground, through the lone fields and across each spiked, trodden stone embedded in the dirt paths that surround. Then, at last – shortly after time itself seems to pause in an effort to halt my foreboding entity that once again threatens humanity –this very body of planetary matter shreds another vicious spin, losing any trace of the sun to the adjacent stars beyond. My edge of demise now glides swiftly upon a nearby village, splotched in places as adorned lights begin to flicker their so-called beauty down from above, the efforts of ignorant individuals that revere my very essence.

I become a dense, uneasy blanket in a swift increment of sudden time; reaching through the mud-brick walls of each and every dwelling, awaiting the insiders’ dread to sharpen once they can hold sleep off no longer; as with each of these dreary decisions comes the removal of any light from within. Patience not my partner, the sodden roof of the early lock-up tavern is the first I seep through, its damp, coarse trim nothing to perturb my sentient presence.  Unto dirty benched glasses I stretch, and then upon and beneath the tavern owner’s sleeping quarters’ door I fall. With a small brass lantern extinguished in the chill night air, and the pummelling sheets of hydro gated oxygen stampeding every which-way outside, I shroud the bearded being in his warm layered enclosure and lay across his chest. Moments are all it takes for my only pleasure to succumb to the surroundings; the compressed sound of his now-erratically beating heart is the very ecstasy of my existence.

Lightning flashes beyond the glass panels of his weather-beaten window, causing a single moment of my scarcity as well as his eyes to snap open. They peer outwards, each nerve-ended ball twisting and turning, and nothing of their nature is hidden from me; they have pupils of a dark slate, dilated and filled with dread, the whites beyond temporarily scarred by red streaks revealing his recent companionship with neuro-nausiating substances. The longer I brood the more I absorb from each facial muscle twitching and each cycle of respiration; his very thoughts clear as day to the dark of the night. I devise that I am seen as a master brewer by nature, fermenting the shadows in the veins of those I encroach upon, producing the wine of pure adrenaline.

Despite such intoxication abroad within him, his drowse takes hold almost immediately after he manages to seal his lids once more. Yonder I extend, the only form of light at such an hour that of the occasional strike of lightning and its reflection in each newly formed puddle, strewn loosely across the beaten track. My only desire now is to reach downwards to the darkest of depths; beneath the very surface of the ground. It is here that I lurk without any form of dilution – my concentration supersaturated between every orifice and inclination of the stone lodged walls.

At last the cellar door creaks ajar and cautiously down the half-broken steps creeps a boy, with a flickering stub of burning wax aloft before him. He reaches the ground, eventually, and despite his surroundings he sheds no fear; no single bead of sweat, nor adrenaline induced twitch of his fingers. A sudden draft flows down from above, the single flame drowned out in a moment of uncertainty, and yet he still remains far calmer than the slowing wind outside. I surround him entirely now, extending myself within his very soul. Then, to my disbelief, he utters words; he has a voice in my presence unlike the rest of his kin.

“I do not fear the shadows. Let me be.”

© Copyright 2019 NoahDM. All rights reserved.

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