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"My Shadow" (the ninety-seventh ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "My Shadow" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EDT), Sept 15, 2009 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| My
Shadow By Cathyvester@ymail.com (Entry #8) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| If Ruby felt even the smallest
amount of anxiety as she walked into the run-down tavern, it was not apparent.
She pulled open the heavy, darkly tinted, glass door and entered. She ignored
the stench of cigarette smoke, stale booze, and body odor. She did not even
hesitate long enough for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Confidently,
she walked past the coin-operated pool table, her high-heels clicking against
the dirty tile floor. A few feet away, a young man was intently aiming his pool
stick. Another older man guzzled a long neck bottle of Budweiser while waiting
his turn to take a shot at the eight-ball. Both men paused long enough to
admire Ruby's long shapely legs as she walked towards the bar and slid onto the
vinyl covered stool. It was only after she smoothed her navy blue skirt and
brushed her wavy, brown hair over her shoulders that she looked around the
room. Ruby's green eyes, framed by long mascara tinted eyelashes, moved across the room as if looking for nothing in particular. The lit candles placed at each booth, on the other side of the room, created dancing shadows on the wall. They also provided just enough light to see, while hiding a thick layer of dust and other debris. She noted how little had changed. Ray had not taken his eyes off Ruby from the time she opened the door. She not only looked out of place but vaguely familiar. In the 20 years he had been bartending, he had never seen anyone dressed like that in here. Nice women did not come to Ray's Place. He wondered if she was lost and just popped in to get directions. Then, Ruby looked him straight in the eye and ordered a shot of whiskey. More surprisingly, she drank it straight down and ordered another. Ray had a feeling it was going to be an interesting night. After Ruby had finished her third shot of Kentucky's finest, she felt the familiar warmth of the alcohol flowing through her veins. She felt more relaxed than she had in years. In fact, she had not been this relaxed in 15 years, the time it had been since her last drink. She watched a couple on the dance floor, their shadows mimicking their movements, as they slowly waltzed to an old song playing on the jukebox. Ruby watched the interplay of human form slowly and seductively flickering, pulling away, and melting into one, following the dancers as they moved. Was she only a shadow of who she had been? Was the past 15 years of happiness merely an image to follow her forever while she drank herself to death? Nothing about her life seemed to make sense. As Ruby sat there, obviously a woman of wealth in her designer clothing, fancy manicure, and perfectly groomed hair, she felt at home picking up where she left off many years ago. She and her shadow were one. Ruby turned towards Ray. She was aware he had been staring at her since she walked in. "A toast to shadows," she said lifting her half empty glass towards him. Ray had no idea what she meant. He guessed that it didn't really matter that he understood.. He raised an imaginary glass and repeated after Ruby - to shadows. The long forgotten memories were now fresh as yesterday. Before getting too comfortable, Ruby walked over to the jukebox and inserted enough quarters to hear her favorite music for the next several hours. "Ray, you don't remember me do you?" Ruby said as she seated herself at the bar. She knew he didn't. "I'm sorry, have we met?" "A very long time ago. Ruby - Ruby Ford. Do you remember now?" "No shit! Ruby?" Ray said in disbelief. "What happened to you? Where have you been?" Ray was glad business was slow tonight because he wanted to hear everything she had to say. He wanted to know how the young woman who drank herself silly nearly every night had become this sophisticated lady. She had always been beautiful, he remembered, even in her worn jeans and too tight tee-shirt. He had always wanted her, but he would never have taken advantage of her while she was drunk. Unfortunately, he never saw her sober. Most nights he couldn't sleep from worrying about her though. Then she just disappeared. In this line of business that was not unusual. "I got myself sober" Ruby proudly proclaimed. She failed to mention she had been forced into rehab after the police found her passed out in the ditch in front of a church. "The last time I came in here was the last drink I had." Then she lowered her long lashes and quickly added, "Until now." She took a gulp from her shot glass as if to emphasize what she had just said. Then she continued, "After being sober for a while, I took some classes at Langston Community College. I got a job in real estate. Would you believe I fell in love with my boss, Carl Nelson, and we got married?" "THE Carl Nelson?" Ray interrupted. "Yep, I now own half this town," Ruby said sadly. "Carl left it all to me." Ruby continued to tell Ray about her husband and 2 children dying in a house fire just one year ago today. Ray listened as she relived the details. She explained how she had worked late that day. She was tired, hungry, and couldn't wait to get home. She could smell the smoke almost before she could see it as she turned onto Elm Street. "Lights were flashing and people were gathered around in front of what used to be my home. All that remained by the time I arrived was wet ash, simmering dark smoke, and the shadow of the devil lurking and laughing nearby," she said bitterly, beginning to slur her words. "Carl died trying to save the twins." Listening intently, Ray had not noticed the escalating anger between the two men still shooting pool. The sound of glass breaking against the side of the pool table broke the silence and alerted Ray. The older man threatened the younger one with what was left of the empty beer bottle. As the young man dodged a wide swing of jagged glass, he fell into a table knocking it over. The older man continued to come at the younger one cussing loudly and swinging the broken bottle wildly. Ray shouted for Ruby to come behind the bar with him and stay low while he grabbed for the phone. Looking around the room, he was glad the other customers had already left. As Ruby tried to stand, the 4-inch heel of her left shoe buckled inward causing her to fall to the floor near where the younger man lay sprawled. It all happened so fast. Just as the older man gave one last swing, a 9mm handgun suddenly appeared in the younger man's hands. As Ruby tried to scoot across the filthy floor to get away from the commotion, she suddenly felt sober. She swore she would never drink again.. Her will to live was stronger than her desire to wallow in the past, and shadows no longer seemed important. Several shots rang out. The loudness was deafening, and she did not know if the blood was her own, or the man's. The last thing Ruby saw was Ray reaching for her. The bar room brawl ended as quickly as it had begun. It was well past closing by the time the police left. Ray had decided it was too late to go home tonight. Ruby was in no condition to leave either. Thankfully, she had only twisted her ankle when she fell, and she had not been out long. Ray had convinced her to sleep in the storeroom where he kept a bed for times when he had to stay late. He would spend the rest of the night cleaning the place up a little. Tonight Ray would keep Ruby safe. Tomorrow she would be sober. All was quiet except for the sounds of Frank Sinatra coming from the jukebox singing the last selected song – "Me and My Shadow." |
| My
Shadow By glenlee10@sky.com (Entry #4) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| I’ve been a widow for many
years. My four children have all left home and I have two sweet grandchildren
whom I adore. I’m the General Office Manager for a large engineering
company. I like my job and I’m good at but suddenly, I found myself backed
into a corner and I didn’t even see the threat coming. The ‘situation’ as I called it, started 18 months ago with the arrival of a new trainee in the office. “Look after her,” Ray Dalton, the Accounts Director smiled as he handed her over to my care. “She’s a whizz-kid when it comes to numbers and the bosses want her to feel right at home.” Lisa Sewell was twenty-four. She’d recently returned from university where she’d gained a First. Her grandfather was a friend of one of the firm’s owners. “Need I say more?” Mr.Dalton added in a low voice. Lisa was lovely. She had the figure of a model, pale-gold hair that swung and brushed her shoulders and eyes the colour of mauve evenings. She was stunning but seemed fragile, like a piece of translucent china. My maternal instinct kicked in and of course, my first feeling was to look after her. I introduced Lisa to the other members of my staff and found her a desk and a chair. “Make yourself at home”, I smiled. I doubt that young John, the Purchase Ledger Clerk, did much work that day. I should have chastised him, the way he kept staring at Lisa but she didn’t seem to notice so I let it go. I’d speak with him the following day if he hadn’t pulled himself together. He was only twenty after all and by the expression on his face, he must have thought he was sharing the office with a film star. And truth be told, Lisa did remind me a little of a young Marilyn Monroe. I usually had lunch at my desk and Lisa joined me. “Is that all you’ve brought for lunch?” I could hear the ‘mother’ in my voice. “Don’t you have any proper food?” Lisa looked at the packet of crisps and the chocolate bar. “What’s wrong with it?” I sighed. My children would have known a lecture was coming at this point and left the room but Lisa just sat there, unshed tears turning her eyes deep, deep blue. So I didn’t lecture her. “Here”. I opened my lunch box. “I’m not very hungry. Have one of these.” Lisa took a sandwich. “What are they?” “Tuna mayonnaise. My favourite. With cucumber.” She bit her sandwich. “It’s delicious,” she said. “And you make sure you bring yourself a proper lunch tomorrow,” I gently chided her. The following day, I was pleased to see Lisa had taken my advice and a little flattered that she’d made herself some tuna mayonnaise sandwiches, with cucumber. For the next six months Lisa learnt all about a general accounts office. Mr.Dalton had been right. She was a whizz-kid with numbers and her fingers flew over the computer keyboard like someone with many years‘ experience. We chatted often, just the small snatches of conversation you have during a busy day when you meet someone at the coffee machine of in the toilet. I never seemed to turn round without finding Lisa at my heels. My little shadow, I began to think of her; fondly, I recall. We continued to have lunch together at my desk. “Don’t you ever get tired of tuna sandwiches?” I asked one day. Lisa stopped mid-bite. She looked upset, as though I’d criticised her. After a brief pause, she shook her head. “Only, I’d get fed up if I didn’t change the filling every day,” I explained. “What have you got today?” “Grated cheddar cheese with thick, sliced tomato.” “Another of your favourites?” “Um.” A small sliver of cheese fell onto my desk. I picked it up and popped it into my mouth. “Yes.” The following day Lisa brought cheese and tomato sandwiches for her lunch. After that, she alternated; tuna one day, cheese and tomato the next. I thought it was a bit odd but the child had no mother to advise her and I guessed her father might be as useless in the kitchen as so many men were. At least Lisa was eating a healthy lunch. One Thursday, about 11 o’clock, I bumped into Lisa at the water disposer. “I’m meeting a friend in town for lunch,” I told her. “Holly always brings sandwiches. Why don’t you join her at lunchtime? It’ll be good for you to chat with someone your own age instead of spending so much time with an old person like me.” Lisa’s eyes turned deep purple. I felt uncomfortable, as though she was looking right into my soul, finding it wanting. She dropped her cup of water, untouched, into the waste bin, glared at me and then walked away. She didn’t speak to me the rest of that day or the following one. Did I miss her at my heels? I’m not sure. But on Monday, she must have decided she’d punished me enough, because things were back to normal. It was a cheese and tomato day for Lisa. I had egg and cress. Lisa questioned me about my choice of filling. The next day, she had added that combination to her menu. At that point, I wouldn’t say that alarm bells were ringing; more like a faint tinkling sound in the distance, a sound that disturbed me but one I couldn’t place. Then John became a problem. He’d been a good worker but from the day of Lisa’s arrival his work had been inconsistent and I’d had to spend too much of my time sorting out the messes his slip-shod ways were generating. Despite several heart-to-hearts with him, he couldn’t overcome his infatuation. In the end I had no choice but to give him a verbal warning, then a second. A week after his written and final warning, he was sacked. John cleared out his desk and as I ushered him from the office, I noticed his sorrowful glance in Lisa’s direction. She was standing next to the coffee machine, her expression impenetrable, and her eyes dark. She didn’t acknowledge John, didn’t even watch him go. The following day I approached Mr.Dalton. He agreed with me that Lisa could take over John’s job, “If I felt she was up to it.” I assured him she was a great asset to the company and could easily handle it and still keep up with the training programme I’d worked out for her. Lisa was up to the work but nothing else changed. I was unable to wean her from my side and she continued to join me for lunch. I suggested once we should invite Holly to sit with us as she was the only other person left in the office that lunch break. I should have insisted but Lisa’s eyes filled with tears and I let the matter drop. Looking back, I think this was the pivotal point in our relationship. I could, and should, have used my authority. Why did I still feel that Lisa was vulnerable? The intensity with which she shadowed me became deeper but I never recognized it for what it was. One lunchtime I had to go shopping. I needed some new outfits for work. It was the type of shopping when it’s always useful to have another woman’s input so I invited Lisa to come along. Her face lit up. She really was incredibly beautiful. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered. “I’d love to.” One of the items I bought was a deep-lilac sweater with mauve collar and pearl buttons on the cuffs. “It’s the colour of your eyes,” I commented. I mentioned on the way back to work that I thought I’d wear the sweater the following day as the weather forecast was for rain and a drop in temperatures. “I think I’ll wear it with my black trousers. And those dangly, silver earrings I bought last week should go well with it,” I said, making girlie talk. Early the following day, I was in the office pointing over Holly’s shoulder, discussing something on her screen when Lisa arrived. Someone sniggered. I looked up, along with everyone else in the office. Lisa was wearing, black trousers, an identical sweater to mine and very, very similar earrings. I felt so foolish being dressed like the most junior of my staff. Surely she hadn’t meant to undermine my authority? That was what it felt like. I gave it five minutes then went to the Ladies. Sure enough, Lisa followed within seconds. “Why are you doing this?” I tried not to shout. “Doing what?” “Don’t be so innocent,” I scalded her. “Why are you wearing identical clothes? You’ve made me into a laughing stock. I bet they’re all out there now, rolling in the aisles!” “No, I haven’t,” Lisa protested.”You look great.” “I look like your twin; the ugly twin!” This time I did shout. Lisa glanced at the mirror in which we were both reflected. There were stood, frozen for a moment in time, the young and the old, the gorgeous and the grandmother. “No,” Lisa said. “You’re much more sophisticated than me.” She smiled into the eyes of my reflection. “And you did say this colour matched my eyes,” she continued. “So I went out and bought the sweater after work.” Her eyes, those damnable eyes, filled with tears again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll go home and change if you like.” I was tempted to tell her to do just that. But the thought, ‘You’re just jealous’, popped into my head. “No. No,” I gulped. “Keep it on. Wear it whenever you want.” I swore to myself I’d never wear mine again. Ever! Our company was involved in a take-over not long after that incident and suddenly there weren’t enough hours in the day to do all the work involved with the merger of two companies. I continued to have lunch at my desk but generally carried on working. Lisa joined me but there was little time for conversation beyond me showing her various aspects of the projects I was working on. Lisa watched me the whole time. Her questions and suggestions were pertinent and helpful but her attention was unwavering. That was when I realised my shadow was suffocating me. Mr.Dalton phoned me one morning and asked me to come and see him. This was not an unusual occurrence. On my way up to the Sixth Floor, a charming gentleman, trim, white-haired and maybe five years older than me, held open the lift doors. “Going up,” he smiled. I was a grandma, for heaven’s sake, so why did my heart give that little, long-forgotten flutter? “Why thank you so much,” I returned his smile. Stop simpering, I told myself off. Stop acting like a teenager. When I got off the lift, he held the door open for me. And when he smiled, there went my heart again. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The doors closed, leaving him to go up to the Seventh and top floor. My smile soon froze however when I entered Mr.Dalton’s office. He invited me to sit. I did so. He looked uneasy. I feared that something nasty was coming. “Stella, I…” Mr.Dalton fumbled his words. “I’ve just been informed that you can, if you wish, retire in two years’ time…” I nodded. “But I don’t have to retire at sixty, do I? I certainly have no intention of doing so.” “Hmm,” he mumbled. “But we have to be ready for any contingency, don’t we?” I didn’t answer. “Top Floor has asked me to train Lisa up to take over your position eventually. It seems you are doing such a good job with her that they think she’ll be ready in a couple of years. They have offered her the new position of Deputy General Officer Manager.” “And she’s accepted?” “Yes. She has accepted.” The sly, little toad! She never said a word to me. Just sat and listened while I gave her my job on a plate. “That’s all very well,” I said, “but what if I don’t want to retire in a couple of years’ time? The law won’t let you fire me just because of my age, will it? What will happen to Lisa then?” Mr.Dalton just looked at me sadly. “It’s none of my doing, Stella, believe me.” “When does Lisa take up this new position?” “Yesterday.” And that was when I found myself backed into the corner. I rose. “I have work to do.” And a pretty little nose to punch, I thought, leaving Mr.Dalton’s office. I stabbed the call button and waited for the lift to come down. ‘Ping’. The doors opened. The really nice gentleman was in the lift. My heart refused to do any more than the hammering that had started in my chest with Mr.Dalton’s words. The lift moved. Than stuttered to a halt. “Oh!” we both said. The lift stayed stopped. My companion picked up the emergency phone. “We’re stuck,” he told the engineer, “between Floors,” he glanced at the board on the wall, “Five and Six”. He listened. “As long as that! … Yes, I appreciate you will do everything in your power to get us out faster than that if possible ... yes, I will be patient ... no, I’m not alone… I have a lady with me,” he turned to me and covered the phone with his hand. “They want to know our names.” “Stella. Stella Jones.” The man smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in no time.” He spoke to the engineer. “Ms.Stella Jones is here with me. I’m Douglas Sewell.” He listened again. “Don’t worry about reporting to Top Floor,” he responded. “I am Top Floor. The name is Sewell. Douglas Sewell and since last month, I own the company. Now, get us out of here as quickly as you can, there’s a good chap.” Mr.Sewell pointed to the floor. “We may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait.” This time his smile did strange things to my circulation. And it gave me an idea. All might not be lost. Lisa had told me her paternal grandmother had died in a car accident and that her grandfather had never re-married. So, I reasoned, if I could charm this man as much as he had charmed me, I could be revenged on Lisa. I would have a meal ticket for life and Lisa could have my job. With my blessing. I got to work. “Well,” I smiled, joining him on the floor of the lift. “If we’re going to be here for any length of time, you must tell me all about yourself.” |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #8 Second place: #4 Third place: #10 Fourth place: #9 Fifth place: #2 Others receiving votes: #1, #7 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| My Shadow kris.siv@juno.com |
#1 of 11 |
| 1282 words | |
| “Good morning Sharon...Sharon.” “Good morning Ted. Looks like maybe you're missing something?” “What?” he said looking around, “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.” “Ted!” he called out while retracing his steps back outside. Sure enough there was Ted in the parking lot chatting it up with some attractive and bosomy blond. “Ted!” he yelled and the shadowy figure turned to look at him while giving him a casual wave of his hand before returning his attention to the blond and the equally shadowy figure beside her. “Ted, get over here...now!” hollered Ted in exasperation. As the figure reluctantly wrapped up his conversation and began to walk towards him, Ted wondered why his shadow refused to behave and stick to him like he was supposed to do. No one else he knew had such an ill-mannered and irresponsible shadow as his. Sure, sometimes other shadows might get side-tracked or fall behind but, none were as wayward and unruly as his. Wasn't he, Ted, supposed to be the one in control? Wasn't Ted supposed to follow Ted around instead of Ted always having to chase after Ted? “I'm coming...don't get your knickers all in a bunch man. Did you see that hot little number I was talking with? Boy, she is really a...” “I don't want to hear about it Ted. This is completely unacceptable behavior and now we're late for work. Come on, hurry up.” “But I hate coming here...its such a bore. Why can't we just play hooky and go have a little fun instead? What ya say chum?” “Because we have a job Ted, and thats what responsible...” “No, you have a job, I...” “No Ted. We have a job. In case this fact has alluded you, we are supposed to be a team. You do what I do, thats just the way it is. Why can't you understand that?” “But I don't want to do what you do. I want to...” “Shut up Ted. I am not going to argue with you about this. We have gone over this time and time again, it's just the way things are okay? Now come on.” “Fine.” Ted grumbled as he grudgingly took his place beside Ted and they walked into the office building together. “Good morning Ted...Ted.” “Well good morning to you lovely Sharon...and Sharon. I must say you are looking most ravishing today. How about you and I...and you, of course...” “Ted!” “Sorry love, the 'master' calls...” he said rolling his eyes and thumbing towards Ted as he danced a little jig away from the receptionists desk. “Coming Master!” Somehow Ted managed to keep Ted under control long enough to get through one more day at work without getting fired. He couldn't afford to lose another job because of Ted's inappropriate conduct and blatant disregard of shadow etiquette. His flirtatious philandering, pranks and constant need of supervision by Ted had led to dozens of terminations from bosses and clients fed up with Ted's behavior. He was humiliated when he was fired from his last job when Ted managed to convince his co-workers shadows that there was to be a solar eclipse and they should wait it out at the local bar. The next morning when Ted got up, Ted was no where to be seen. Unfortunately this was not unusual. Ted just could not understand why Ted could not be home by sunrise. He had all night while Ted was sleeping to go out carousing and yet, nine times out of ten, he wouldn't make it home by morning. He just hoped it wouldn't be the cops bringing him home again. More humiliation. The local police viewed Ted, as well as Ted, as a public nuisance and he was fined each time Ted was found loitering around by himself. More than likely he was probably just now being found out in some poor unsuspecting womans apartment after a night of seducing her own, usually young and naive shadow. Seeing as it was now the weekend, Ted might not see him until Monday. Typical as it was, it still infuriated Ted. He would have to stay in his apartment or risk the embarrassment (and possible fine) of walking around without his shadow. He could of course just stay inside and watch TV but over the years Ted had picked up several hobbies that he could enjoy without having to worry about where Ted was. He went to the movies a lot, listened to books on tape while laying in the dark, he loved taking walks in the rain and he had taken up photography. He could drive out to the country where no one would see him walking around “shadow less”, take pictures and then come home to the peace and quiet of his darkroom to develop them. That afternoon he emerged from his darkroom to find that Ted was home. “Well,” said Ted, “I see you managed to find your way home without the aid of the local police. I'm proud of you.” “That wasn't a very nice thing to say...maybe I'll just pop back out if you're not happy to see me.” “No! Please don't...it's a gorgeous day outside and I was rather hoping to be able to go out and enjoy it. I can't afford another fine you know. Where have you been anyway?” “Oh just lurking in some back alley with a group of friends.” said Ted with a wink. “Very funny. Lets go.” They walked down to the park together and soon noticed a very pretty woman darting from one tree to the next, obviously trying to stick to the shady areas. She seemed quite agitated and was yelling to someone, but in a hushed kind of way, like a mother scolding her child in public. “Julia! Julia, where are you?!” she cried through clenched teeth while searching the park, trying to look inconspicuous. “Julia!” Ted walked up to her, “Hi there...are you OK? Do you need some help?” he asked. “Oh...hi”, she said while nervously looking around. “I uh...well, my shadow seems to have wandered off...again.” she said a little sheepishly and more than a little annoyed. “I can't afford another fine because of her.” “Believe me, I understand.” said Ted nodding his head in the direction of Ted. The woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow and grinned a little. “Apparently you do. You seem to be missing something yourself.” Ted whirled around and sure enough, Ted was missing. “My name is Ted...and who is it you would be looking for?” “Julia.” “I'll help you look since I am pretty sure wherever Julia is, so will be Ted.” Soon they were sharing shadow horror stories and what it was like to have such incorrigible and rebellious shadows. “Julia once thought it would be funny to make obscene images while I was giving a demonstration on shadow puppets.” “Ted disappeared on me while I was reciting Shakespeare...you know Lysander? 'Swift as a shadow, short as a dream...'” As they darted together between the trees, spilling out their frustrations to one another, calling out to their respective shadows, they felt a bond begin to grow. It felt good to talk to someone who understood their aggravations and as they laughed they could feel some of the tension melting away. Eventually they came across a thick clump of bushes with soft murmuring and giggles emanating from within. “Ted?” “Julia?” “Shh...”, they heard. “Ted, get out of there right now.” said Ted firmly. “You too Julia.” Amid the rustle of leaves the two guilty shadows crawled out to face their better halves. “I found her mate!” said Ted grinning from ear to ear. “No need to thank me...just doing my civic duty. Lets say we...” “That's enough Ted. Let's just finish up our walk in the park,” and looking over at Julia, “with these two lovely ladies.” Julia smiled and nodded at Ted. “So,” said Ted taking Julia's hand in his, “Have you ever been to the Planetarium?” |
|
| My Shadow Ken Staley madhatterat50@yahoo.com |
#2 of 11 |
| 192 words | |
| My full moon shadow chases the frog calliope into silence as we dash across their raucous calls driven by a intensity so very old that they do not fully understand our mutual elemental desire of nature or their incessant quest to ejaculate a generation now interrupted by our swift passage I scoop a hand full of gravel and my shadow bends with me a ghost mocking my steps abetting my toss gently at first then with some urgency until you appear at your window gauze draped and sleep shrouded A quick finger to your lips demands silence and in short moments you dash from the house Our shadows fly ahead and race towards the meadow shimmering and silver in the full moon our feet damp our touches urgent our kisses as wet as the dew and panting laughing as our shadows dance with glee and become as naked as we Driven by a Siren song akin to the frog chorus now neep-neeping around us seeking my own generation with you and within you as at this moment before me in the wet grass all of your glory unfolded inviting and wanting just as much as I And I - Standing above you lowering myself to your welcome needing to taste your lips and fill Nature’s Song - Hate my shadow because as I sink into your arms it has covered you before I do. |
|
| My Shadow Phil Peterson phildude@gmail.com |
#3 of 11 |
| 98 words | |
| Live your life in a silent room. Dream of death and pray for doom. When sunrays never make it through the gloom. I stand with my shadow. Never known and forever burning. Lust for her is always churning. Her heart’s desires I am learning. Only seeing my shadow. Lasting fear I am greeting. Slit wrist wants I am meeting. Always hungry, forbade from eating. Left with my shadow. Caught again in this dirty trick. Walking her shoreline makes me sick. Gun barrels wet after my first lick. All that remains is my shadow. |
|
| My Shadow glenlee10@sky.com |
#4 of 11 Runner-up |
| 2474 words | |
| I’ve been a widow for many years. My four children
have all left home and I have two sweet grandchildren whom I adore. I’m
the General Office Manager for a large engineering company. I like my job and
I’m good at but suddenly, I found myself backed into a corner and I
didn’t even see the threat coming. The ‘situation’ as I called it, started 18 months ago with the arrival of a new trainee in the office. “Look after her,” Ray Dalton, the Accounts Director smiled as he handed her over to my care. “She’s a whizz-kid when it comes to numbers and the bosses want her to feel right at home.” Lisa Sewell was twenty-four. She’d recently returned from university where she’d gained a First. Her grandfather was a friend of one of the firm’s owners. “Need I say more?” Mr.Dalton added in a low voice. Lisa was lovely. She had the figure of a model, pale-gold hair that swung and brushed her shoulders and eyes the colour of mauve evenings. She was stunning but seemed fragile, like a piece of translucent china. My maternal instinct kicked in and of course, my first feeling was to look after her. I introduced Lisa to the other members of my staff and found her a desk and a chair. “Make yourself at home”, I smiled. I doubt that young John, the Purchase Ledger Clerk, did much work that day. I should have chastised him, the way he kept staring at Lisa but she didn’t seem to notice so I let it go. I’d speak with him the following day if he hadn’t pulled himself together. He was only twenty after all and by the expression on his face, he must have thought he was sharing the office with a film star. And truth be told, Lisa did remind me a little of a young Marilyn Monroe. I usually had lunch at my desk and Lisa joined me. “Is that all you’ve brought for lunch?” I could hear the ‘mother’ in my voice. “Don’t you have any proper food?” Lisa looked at the packet of crisps and the chocolate bar. “What’s wrong with it?” I sighed. My children would have known a lecture was coming at this point and left the room but Lisa just sat there, unshed tears turning her eyes deep, deep blue. So I didn’t lecture her. “Here”. I opened my lunch box. “I’m not very hungry. Have one of these.” Lisa took a sandwich. “What are they?” “Tuna mayonnaise. My favourite. With cucumber.” She bit her sandwich. “It’s delicious,” she said. “And you make sure you bring yourself a proper lunch tomorrow,” I gently chided her. The following day, I was pleased to see Lisa had taken my advice and a little flattered that she’d made herself some tuna mayonnaise sandwiches, with cucumber. For the next six months Lisa learnt all about a general accounts office. Mr.Dalton had been right. She was a whizz-kid with numbers and her fingers flew over the computer keyboard like someone with many years‘ experience. We chatted often, just the small snatches of conversation you have during a busy day when you meet someone at the coffee machine of in the toilet. I never seemed to turn round without finding Lisa at my heels. My little shadow, I began to think of her; fondly, I recall. We continued to have lunch together at my desk. “Don’t you ever get tired of tuna sandwiches?” I asked one day. Lisa stopped mid-bite. She looked upset, as though I’d criticised her. After a brief pause, she shook her head. “Only, I’d get fed up if I didn’t change the filling every day,” I explained. “What have you got today?” “Grated cheddar cheese with thick, sliced tomato.” “Another of your favourites?” “Um.” A small sliver of cheese fell onto my desk. I picked it up and popped it into my mouth. “Yes.” The following day Lisa brought cheese and tomato sandwiches for her lunch. After that, she alternated; tuna one day, cheese and tomato the next. I thought it was a bit odd but the child had no mother to advise her and I guessed her father might be as useless in the kitchen as so many men were. At least Lisa was eating a healthy lunch. One Thursday, about 11 o’clock, I bumped into Lisa at the water disposer. “I’m meeting a friend in town for lunch,” I told her. “Holly always brings sandwiches. Why don’t you join her at lunchtime? It’ll be good for you to chat with someone your own age instead of spending so much time with an old person like me.” Lisa’s eyes turned deep purple. I felt uncomfortable, as though she was looking right into my soul, finding it wanting. She dropped her cup of water, untouched, into the waste bin, glared at me and then walked away. She didn’t speak to me the rest of that day or the following one. Did I miss her at my heels? I’m not sure. But on Monday, she must have decided she’d punished me enough, because things were back to normal. It was a cheese and tomato day for Lisa. I had egg and cress. Lisa questioned me about my choice of filling. The next day, she had added that combination to her menu. At that point, I wouldn’t say that alarm bells were ringing; more like a faint tinkling sound in the distance, a sound that disturbed me but one I couldn’t place. Then John became a problem. He’d been a good worker but from the day of Lisa’s arrival his work had been inconsistent and I’d had to spend too much of my time sorting out the messes his slip-shod ways were generating. Despite several heart-to-hearts with him, he couldn’t overcome his infatuation. In the end I had no choice but to give him a verbal warning, then a second. A week after his written and final warning, he was sacked. John cleared out his desk and as I ushered him from the office, I noticed his sorrowful glance in Lisa’s direction. She was standing next to the coffee machine, her expression impenetrable, and her eyes dark. She didn’t acknowledge John, didn’t even watch him go. The following day I approached Mr.Dalton. He agreed with me that Lisa could take over John’s job, “If I felt she was up to it.” I assured him she was a great asset to the company and could easily handle it and still keep up with the training programme I’d worked out for her. Lisa was up to the work but nothing else changed. I was unable to wean her from my side and she continued to join me for lunch. I suggested once we should invite Holly to sit with us as she was the only other person left in the office that lunch break. I should have insisted but Lisa’s eyes filled with tears and I let the matter drop. Looking back, I think this was the pivotal point in our relationship. I could, and should, have used my authority. Why did I still feel that Lisa was vulnerable? The intensity with which she shadowed me became deeper but I never recognized it for what it was. One lunchtime I had to go shopping. I needed some new outfits for work. It was the type of shopping when it’s always useful to have another woman’s input so I invited Lisa to come along. Her face lit up. She really was incredibly beautiful. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered. “I’d love to.” One of the items I bought was a deep-lilac sweater with mauve collar and pearl buttons on the cuffs. “It’s the colour of your eyes,” I commented. I mentioned on the way back to work that I thought I’d wear the sweater the following day as the weather forecast was for rain and a drop in temperatures. “I think I’ll wear it with my black trousers. And those dangly, silver earrings I bought last week should go well with it,” I said, making girlie talk. Early the following day, I was in the office pointing over Holly’s shoulder, discussing something on her screen when Lisa arrived. Someone sniggered. I looked up, along with everyone else in the office. Lisa was wearing, black trousers, an identical sweater to mine and very, very similar earrings. I felt so foolish being dressed like the most junior of my staff. Surely she hadn’t meant to undermine my authority? That was what it felt like. I gave it five minutes then went to the Ladies. Sure enough, Lisa followed within seconds. “Why are you doing this?” I tried not to shout. “Doing what?” “Don’t be so innocent,” I scalded her. “Why are you wearing identical clothes? You’ve made me into a laughing stock. I bet they’re all out there now, rolling in the aisles!” “No, I haven’t,” Lisa protested.”You look great.” “I look like your twin; the ugly twin!” This time I did shout. Lisa glanced at the mirror in which we were both reflected. There were stood, frozen for a moment in time, the young and the old, the gorgeous and the grandmother. “No,” Lisa said. “You’re much more sophisticated than me.” She smiled into the eyes of my reflection. “And you did say this colour matched my eyes,” she continued. “So I went out and bought the sweater after work.” Her eyes, those damnable eyes, filled with tears again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll go home and change if you like.” I was tempted to tell her to do just that. But the thought, ‘You’re just jealous’, popped into my head. “No. No,” I gulped. “Keep it on. Wear it whenever you want.” I swore to myself I’d never wear mine again. Ever! Our company was involved in a take-over not long after that incident and suddenly there weren’t enough hours in the day to do all the work involved with the merger of two companies. I continued to have lunch at my desk but generally carried on working. Lisa joined me but there was little time for conversation beyond me showing her various aspects of the projects I was working on. Lisa watched me the whole time. Her questions and suggestions were pertinent and helpful but her attention was unwavering. That was when I realised my shadow was suffocating me. Mr.Dalton phoned me one morning and asked me to come and see him. This was not an unusual occurrence. On my way up to the Sixth Floor, a charming gentleman, trim, white-haired and maybe five years older than me, held open the lift doors. “Going up,” he smiled. I was a grandma, for heaven’s sake, so why did my heart give that little, long-forgotten flutter? “Why thank you so much,” I returned his smile. Stop simpering, I told myself off. Stop acting like a teenager. When I got off the lift, he held the door open for me. And when he smiled, there went my heart again. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The doors closed, leaving him to go up to the Seventh and top floor. My smile soon froze however when I entered Mr.Dalton’s office. He invited me to sit. I did so. He looked uneasy. I feared that something nasty was coming. “Stella, I…” Mr.Dalton fumbled his words. “I’ve just been informed that you can, if you wish, retire in two years’ time…” I nodded. “But I don’t have to retire at sixty, do I? I certainly have no intention of doing so.” “Hmm,” he mumbled. “But we have to be ready for any contingency, don’t we?” I didn’t answer. “Top Floor has asked me to train Lisa up to take over your position eventually. It seems you are doing such a good job with her that they think she’ll be ready in a couple of years. They have offered her the new position of Deputy General Officer Manager.” “And she’s accepted?” “Yes. She has accepted.” The sly, little toad! She never said a word to me. Just sat and listened while I gave her my job on a plate. “That’s all very well,” I said, “but what if I don’t want to retire in a couple of years’ time? The law won’t let you fire me just because of my age, will it? What will happen to Lisa then?” Mr.Dalton just looked at me sadly. “It’s none of my doing, Stella, believe me.” “When does Lisa take up this new position?” “Yesterday.” And that was when I found myself backed into the corner. I rose. “I have work to do.” And a pretty little nose to punch, I thought, leaving Mr.Dalton’s office. I stabbed the call button and waited for the lift to come down. ‘Ping’. The doors opened. The really nice gentleman was in the lift. My heart refused to do any more than the hammering that had started in my chest with Mr.Dalton’s words. The lift moved. Than stuttered to a halt. “Oh!” we both said. The lift stayed stopped. My companion picked up the emergency phone. “We’re stuck,” he told the engineer, “between Floors,” he glanced at the board on the wall, “Five and Six”. He listened. “As long as that! … Yes, I appreciate you will do everything in your power to get us out faster than that if possible ... yes, I will be patient ... no, I’m not alone… I have a lady with me,” he turned to me and covered the phone with his hand. “They want to know our names.” “Stella. Stella Jones.” The man smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in no time.” He spoke to the engineer. “Ms.Stella Jones is here with me. I’m Douglas Sewell.” He listened again. “Don’t worry about reporting to Top Floor,” he responded. “I am Top Floor. The name is Sewell. Douglas Sewell and since last month, I own the company. Now, get us out of here as quickly as you can, there’s a good chap.” Mr.Sewell pointed to the floor. “We may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait.” This time his smile did strange things to my circulation. And it gave me an idea. All might not be lost. Lisa had told me her paternal grandmother had died in a car accident and that her grandfather had never re-married. So, I reasoned, if I could charm this man as much as he had charmed me, I could be revenged on Lisa. I would have a meal ticket for life and Lisa could have my job. With my blessing. I got to work. “Well,” I smiled, joining him on the floor of the lift. “If we’re going to be here for any length of time, you must tell me all about yourself.” |
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| My Shadow kamtaakash@yahoo.com |
#5 of 11 |
| 962 words | |
| I walk away. The residual blood drips onto the floor.
The sound echoes through the empty hallway. I strip as a walk to the bathroom.
I hold the knife till I step into the shower. I masturbate as the water dilutes
the blood on my hands and washes it to a pool at my feet. Showers have a way of
clearing the mind. The steam opens the lungs, opens the pores and has the
ability to make every muscle in your body come alive. I wipe myself down on my way to the kitchen. I usually don’t drink red wine unless I am entertaining guests but the Pinotage seems to go well with the blood seeping into the sheepskin rug. I empty the bottle, put on some clothes and leave for a walk on the beach. It is a glorious, peaceful day. I don’t stay on the beach. I am not in the mood to drive there either. I walk for a good solid hour from my home in the city centre to the beach. The lives of strangers seem fascinating, every person playing their role. Smiles, tears, faith, anger, desperation, all etched on the faces I pass. A destitute woman comes up to me begging. I notice a little child no more than two sitting by a street pole. I am tempted to ask, “Will you blow me for fifty bucks?” Instead I look at her kid and offer her my wallet. She looks confused. I carry on walking. I hear her mumbling something about me being cruel and mocking her. My outstretched arm holds the wallet behind me for a while before I let it drop to the floor. The thought of being able to help the poor helpless kid makes me happy. The child’s parents however should be killed. Why bring life into this world when all you can gift it is misery and hardship? The sand looks soft, golden and inviting. I remove my leather slip-ons, pull of my socks and allow my feet to sink into the grains. The salt of the sea fills my nostrils. Whispers of the sea-spray beckon me to venture closer, to embrace the blue expanse. As wet manifests upon my clothes I realize that I am dressed in a three piece suit. I wade deeper into the sea. My face is wet. It is not the sea but my own tears. I cry yet am unaware of the act. I stand there surrounded by water, pouring water out from within, washing myself, cleansing myself inside and out. I am in a state of ecstasy. I feel free. This will be over soon. Like any bad dream I will wake soon and sigh with relief at the unreality of it all and make love to my wife to connect to reality. I shut my eyes, hoping that when I opened them again I will be home in bed, my family around me. After countless contractions of my eyelids it dawned upon me, “from this nightmare there is no peace in being awake”. I sink to my knees. The waves push my head under water. My body lacks the will to fight it. Why am I alive? It will not be long before the questions begin. Who killed them? What was the motive? Why was I left alive? Did I kill my family? Was anything taken? Why did I not contact the police and the paramedics? Will people understand? Will they accept my answers? Will they believe me when I tell them that by the time I got into my house my wife and kids were already dead? I walked into my bedroom to discover a pale corpse that resembled my wife, naked on the bed. Evidence of the abuse she endured visible on her soft skin. My kids were in their beds, like I leave them at nights after I tuck them in. When everything is lost what need is there to fight. The bullets and blood stains however made this image unique. Will people believe that I was stupid enough to pick up the discarded blade that lay on the floor beneath my wife’s slit throat and failed to sever the blood vessels beneath the skin of my wrists? Not there to protect them to weak to join them now. Will enquirers believe that I noticed nothing of the possessions in my house? That I still do not accept that it is real? This is a thriller which I am watching on my own in 3D. I ask myself these questions for I know that they will come, but the answers and the response to them is insignificant. I have lost everything in my life. Vengeance is selfish and to what end? Hunt down the demons who ripped away my life, see them punished and then what mellow in the bitter emptiness that remains. When one removes all the joy - all the colour and intricate, merry decorations, all the love and details that give meaning, then what is left? In photography and art when everything is removed and replaced by black a silhouette is created. In life when the light is behind you and nothing but emptiness ahead, all that is visible is a dark shadow, my shadow. I have been robbed of all joy, love, colour, expression and emotion, my shadow is all that is left of my life. My shadow is all I have been left with and with the setting of the sun it too shall leave me and if my prayer be answered it will not return tomorrow. |
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| My Shadow Micki Peluso http://www.freewebs.com/butch1025/thewhippoorwillsang.htm |
#6 of 11 |
| 125 words | |
| The shadow followed me all day Glimpsed in farthest corners of my eyes Each time I turned, it sped away Wherever Shadows run to hide It took not shape, nor any form, At least from what I briefly spied It seemed a darkly presence at my back I hurried home, and ran inside Would its blackness fade with sunlight's lack? No, it hovers just beyond my view In darkness shows its wicked might Taught me terrors I never knew I reached quickly for some light Each click, each lamp, brought no flare, no brightness To turn away the dark Which made the Shadow more aware That I could feel its evil mark Do I deserve this dreaded fate? My sins crossed o'er my mind and soul Must I now pay the devil's toll? Or be redeemed too late? Only my Shadow knows |
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| My Shadow brigid@lorienwood.plus.com |
#7 of 11 |
| 73 words | |
| A faithful friend will ape your moods, he'll go anywhere you lead. He'll mime your movements- good and bad, though challenged he will recede. There are no secrets you can hide, splayed furtively he'll know. He'll guard you as you lay asleep, ready to rouse and go. He'll follow you through thick or thin. He'll cry if you shed a tear- until the noon day sun or dusk cause your shadow to disappear |
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| My Shadow Cathyvester@ymail.com |
#8 of 11 Winner |
| 1442 words | |
| If Ruby felt even the smallest amount of anxiety as she
walked into the run-down tavern, it was not apparent. She pulled open the
heavy, darkly tinted, glass door and entered. She ignored the stench of
cigarette smoke, stale booze, and body odor. She did not even hesitate long
enough for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Confidently, she walked
past the coin-operated pool table, her high-heels clicking against the dirty
tile floor. A few feet away, a young man was intently aiming his pool stick.
Another older man guzzled a long neck bottle of Budweiser while waiting his
turn to take a shot at the eight-ball. Both men paused long enough to admire
Ruby's long shapely legs as she walked towards the bar and slid onto the vinyl
covered stool. It was only after she smoothed her navy blue skirt and brushed
her wavy, brown hair over her shoulders that she looked around the room.
Ruby's green eyes, framed by long mascara tinted eyelashes, moved across the room as if looking for nothing in particular. The lit candles placed at each booth, on the other side of the room, created dancing shadows on the wall. They also provided just enough light to see, while hiding a thick layer of dust and other debris. She noted how little had changed. Ray had not taken his eyes off Ruby from the time she opened the door. She not only looked out of place but vaguely familiar. In the 20 years he had been bartending, he had never seen anyone dressed like that in here. Nice women did not come to Ray's Place. He wondered if she was lost and just popped in to get directions. Then, Ruby looked him straight in the eye and ordered a shot of whiskey. More surprisingly, she drank it straight down and ordered another. Ray had a feeling it was going to be an interesting night. After Ruby had finished her third shot of Kentucky's finest, she felt the familiar warmth of the alcohol flowing through her veins. She felt more relaxed than she had in years. In fact, she had not been this relaxed in 15 years, the time it had been since her last drink. She watched a couple on the dance floor, their shadows mimicking their movements, as they slowly waltzed to an old song playing on the jukebox. Ruby watched the interplay of human form slowly and seductively flickering, pulling away, and melting into one, following the dancers as they moved. Was she only a shadow of who she had been? Was the past 15 years of happiness merely an image to follow her forever while she drank herself to death? Nothing about her life seemed to make sense. As Ruby sat there, obviously a woman of wealth in her designer clothing, fancy manicure, and perfectly groomed hair, she felt at home picking up where she left off many years ago. She and her shadow were one. Ruby turned towards Ray. She was aware he had been staring at her since she walked in. "A toast to shadows," she said lifting her half empty glass towards him. Ray had no idea what she meant. He guessed that it didn't really matter that he understood.. He raised an imaginary glass and repeated after Ruby - to shadows. The long forgotten memories were now fresh as yesterday. Before getting too comfortable, Ruby walked over to the jukebox and inserted enough quarters to hear her favorite music for the next several hours. "Ray, you don't remember me do you?" Ruby said as she seated herself at the bar. She knew he didn't. "I'm sorry, have we met?" "A very long time ago. Ruby - Ruby Ford. Do you remember now?" "No shit! Ruby?" Ray said in disbelief. "What happened to you? Where have you been?" Ray was glad business was slow tonight because he wanted to hear everything she had to say. He wanted to know how the young woman who drank herself silly nearly every night had become this sophisticated lady. She had always been beautiful, he remembered, even in her worn jeans and too tight tee-shirt. He had always wanted her, but he would never have taken advantage of her while she was drunk. Unfortunately, he never saw her sober. Most nights he couldn't sleep from worrying about her though. Then she just disappeared. In this line of business that was not unusual. "I got myself sober" Ruby proudly proclaimed. She failed to mention she had been forced into rehab after the police found her passed out in the ditch in front of a church. "The last time I came in here was the last drink I had." Then she lowered her long lashes and quickly added, "Until now." She took a gulp from her shot glass as if to emphasize what she had just said. Then she continued, "After being sober for a while, I took some classes at Langston Community College. I got a job in real estate. Would you believe I fell in love with my boss, Carl Nelson, and we got married?" "THE Carl Nelson?" Ray interrupted. "Yep, I now own half this town," Ruby said sadly. "Carl left it all to me." Ruby continued to tell Ray about her husband and 2 children dying in a house fire just one year ago today. Ray listened as she relived the details. She explained how she had worked late that day. She was tired, hungry, and couldn't wait to get home. She could smell the smoke almost before she could see it as she turned onto Elm Street. "Lights were flashing and people were gathered around in front of what used to be my home. All that remained by the time I arrived was wet ash, simmering dark smoke, and the shadow of the devil lurking and laughing nearby," she said bitterly, beginning to slur her words. "Carl died trying to save the twins." Listening intently, Ray had not noticed the escalating anger between the two men still shooting pool. The sound of glass breaking against the side of the pool table broke the silence and alerted Ray. The older man threatened the younger one with what was left of the empty beer bottle. As the young man dodged a wide swing of jagged glass, he fell into a table knocking it over. The older man continued to come at the younger one cussing loudly and swinging the broken bottle wildly. Ray shouted for Ruby to come behind the bar with him and stay low while he grabbed for the phone. Looking around the room, he was glad the other customers had already left. As Ruby tried to stand, the 4-inch heel of her left shoe buckled inward causing her to fall to the floor near where the younger man lay sprawled. It all happened so fast. Just as the older man gave one last swing, a 9mm handgun suddenly appeared in the younger man's hands. As Ruby tried to scoot across the filthy floor to get away from the commotion, she suddenly felt sober. She swore she would never drink again.. Her will to live was stronger than her desire to wallow in the past, and shadows no longer seemed important. Several shots rang out. The loudness was deafening, and she did not know if the blood was her own, or the man's. The last thing Ruby saw was Ray reaching for her. The bar room brawl ended as quickly as it had begun. It was well past closing by the time the police left. Ray had decided it was too late to go home tonight. Ruby was in no condition to leave either. Thankfully, she had only twisted her ankle when she fell, and she had not been out long. Ray had convinced her to sleep in the storeroom where he kept a bed for times when he had to stay late. He would spend the rest of the night cleaning the place up a little. Tonight Ray would keep Ruby safe. Tomorrow she would be sober. All was quiet except for the sounds of Frank Sinatra coming from the jukebox singing the last selected song – "Me and My Shadow." |
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| My Shadow Ellen Holland |
#9 of 11 |
| 1016 words | |
| Grief is a sneaky companion. It whispers in our ears so
softly that we strain to comprehend from where it came, and always lies behind us, outside of our vision; a thing of shadow and dread; waiting for its moment to remind us of what is lost. Just when we think that the scabbed over wound is healed, some little thing comes along and once again we bleed with sorrow and regret. This happened to me again today when someone asked me how long it had been since Sue died. She died almost 10 years ago; a friend with whom I shared time; someone who made me laugh and whose company I enjoyed. With Sue I knew I had only to be myself and she would like what I represented. She made me feel that I had something to offer as a friend and perhaps she helped me to like myself better because of that. Her death was not pleasant but it was anticipated and fought against with all the strength and willpower that she had at her disposal. She had young children and wanted to see them grow and it was unbelievable that someone as vibrant, unconventional and joyful as herself could ever be struck down in the way that she had been warned would happen. Her decline was slow and undignified, and when at last the end arrived, a collective sigh signified we were thankful her indignities had finally ceased. Sue was a friend but not an incredibly close friend, in fact I knew nothing about her apart from the fact that our husbands worked together and socially we found ourselves moving in the same circles. So I was surprised when I was the one she called to collect her, from a hospital to which I had no idea she had been admitted, and I was horrified when she told me what tests she had undergone and what they had shown. In retrospect, her dignity, when she gave me the information, was unbelievable and the matter of fact manner, which she adopted from that moment on, was breathtakingly brave. At that time, though, I was still in shock at her news and don’t think I was able to comprehend fully how little time she had left to enjoy life. I wasn’t able to go to her funeral as I was by then living in another state and having changed my work timetable to enable me to travel to the next state, her family decided to change the day of the funeral to accommodate others who wanted to attend. Unfortunately, my work time could not be altered a second time, but I wrote to her husband and sent him a photo of Sue that I knew he hadn’t seen. She was looking straight at the camera, glass of champagne in hand and eyes crinkled with laughter. It was the way that I always saw her and wanted to remember her; happy, carefree and facing life without fear. He liked it so much that he used it as part of her funeral notice in the newspaper and sent a copy of it to me. I was touched and treasure the clipping, but each time I look at that deceptively carefree photograph I am filled with regret for what might have been, just as I know folk have done with their own memories since time began Later that same year I moved countries because of my husband’s job and four years after that we moved back to Australia and found ourselves in the same state that Sue had been in when she died. I suddenly became aware that I had known a different Sue to the one that most others knew. Where I had known someone who was honest, forthright and kind they thought she had been somewhat loose with her morals and not the perfect wife and mother that she could, and they felt should, have been. I became furiously defensive and told of moments when she had surprised me with her tolerance and warm heart; what a sincere and generous personality she had been. They looked at me as if I spoke a foreign language, and my heart bled for the Sue that I remembered. She would have taken no offence at what they said and wouldn’t even have tried to defend herself or her reputation. She didn’t believe in criticising anyone – even her critics - and I never once heard her ‘badmouth’ anyone. She preferred to stay silent when others were gossiping and always found something positive about the most negative of people or situations. Perhaps they knew her better than I, but I prefer to think we both knew just different aspects of the same character. It was at that very moment, after all those years that the first darkness of grieving hit me with a jolt usually reserved for an elbow impacting into your solar plexus. I felt immense regret for the premature ending of an unusual and very individual life and felt Sue standing close by, amused at my attempt to change the minds of people who had known her since childhood. Perhaps that was why she called me all those years ago when she needed to leave the hospital that had just handed her a death sentence. She knew that my view of her was only of the worthy person that I still believe her to have been. Our friendship was unconditional and unbiased, and at that time an uncomplicated relationship was all that she needed. I’m so sorry that I didn’t know you longer, Sue, but I think I understand you far better for not having known you in your earlier years. I just have to catch a glimpse of a woman in the street with magenta highlights in her hair, or sit on the sea wall eating fish and chips, while someone behind me is laughing, and that sneaky companion is back, twisting my heart with an unexpected sorrow and making my day colder, with a shadow that’s been waiting for it’s moment to take away the sunshine. |
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| My Shadow Clytan Fernando clytan2005@yahoo.com |
#10 of 11 |
| 2222 words | |
| I know someone is following me. The alleyways and
sidewalks of Southby I am familiar with now seem eerily calm and baleful.
There’s not a soul on the road this late. The light from the occasional
lamppost gives rise to oddly shaped shadows along my path, only adding to the
melancholy of the moonless night. Why would anyone stalk a guy like me? I have no clue. I am David Moody, twenty-three, completing my master’s degree in college. I’m heading back home from Alex’s birthday party. My pursuer has been on my trail for a while now. I managed to first spot him as I turned a corner, not far away from Alex’s place. Alex Cooper is my best friend. In hindsight, I should have gone back right then and spent the night at Alex’s house. My buddies were all still there, but I was embarrassed to go back and tell them I was such a wimp. Convinced that the man behind me was just someone on a night walk, I trudged on. Now, I regret that decision. I consider it being a prank. Someone from the party may be, trying to spook me. I dismiss this possibility after a few more minutes. No way a prank could last this long. I approach a corner, wanting to get a better look at the man shadowing me. As I turn the corner, I see the figure barely in my field of view; he is wearing a brown trench coat and a black hat, silver hair sticking out of it. That is all I dare to see of him—my shadow. Wanting to keep panic at bay, I try to think of something else but can’t seem to get my mind off him. His walk is awkward, a bit skewed. He has silver hair under his hat. Silver hair—it brings a wretched memory to me. I vividly remember that day as my thoughts float away, from my pursuer to a camping trip a month ago. The air was still and humid, deep in the forest, where we camped. Sunlit days are rare in Southby; that day we were lucky. Shafts of greenish sunlight bore down on us through the narrow breaks in the forest canopy. Everything I laid eyes on had a green tinge because of the light filtering through the flora overhead. Gregory Wright and Alex sat either side of me. Alex and I hang out a lot. We are inseparable; wherever I go, he is there with me. Gregory is Alex’s classmate. Both Alex and I like him, but he is a loner and a bit odd if you ask me. We chatted about football, cars, girls and booze, in that order until Alex as usual brought up a weird topic. “Can you believe this, guys? A serial killer investigation right here in Southby!” Alex said. This wasn’t something I cherished talking about, so I let Greg answer it. “The corn guy?” Greg said. “Of course, you clot.” “What the hell are we talking about?” I said. Alex looked at me as if I had just punched him. “David, haven’t you read the papers lately?” He said to me. “A string of victims, all young men, raped and murdered in our town. And I thought Southby was boring.” “Southby is boring,” I said without a hint of pride for my birthplace. “Where else would a bunch of people get all excited about rape and murder?” “This is no ordinary case though. The cops say it’s a serial killer.” Greg said. “Listen to this man,” Alex leaned forward and spoke faster. “This guy stalks his victims, finds out about their daily routine. Victims are always young men below thirty. He confronts them with a weapon, may be a gun in a secluded spot. And then at gunpoint, rapes them.” “And how do you know this, Sherlock?” I asked. “It’s all in the papers, wise ass. Do you live on Mars? Now let me go on. It gets a lot more interesting.” Alex said and Greg nodded and gave me a sly grin. “He violently rapes them with an ear of corn. Then he just cuts off body parts like meat and stuffs the same corncob into the victim’s mouth. He cuts off the head and places it between the legs of the victim as if it were genitalia. So the bodies are found in pieces, with their mouths open and stinking corn inside.” I felt bile rise in my throat and struggled to keep my breakfast down. Alex and Greg were obsessed with serial killers and murder. Alex had a collection of books on serial killers and Greg was an avid slasher movie fan. This was definitely not my favorite subject but I was intrigued nevertheless. Murder was unheard of in Southby. “Why does he use the corn to rape? Why not… ah… do it himself?” I said. “Don’t you see? He is impotent, an old man probably. The sick bastard can’t get it up so he uses the corn. The papers call him ‘The Corn Killer’.” Greg said. “I think the corn is to ensure he leaves no DNA evidence behind.” said Alex. “He might be old though. They have a witness who says he saw an old man walk away from the scene just before he discovered the second body. “Four victims so far, in six months. I bet the cops don’t have a clue. We are his potential prey guys… I wonder who is next on the old man’s list.” Now, the memory makes me shudder. The man behind me is old too. Am I being stalked by the Corn Killer? My legs work faster. I don’t dare to look back even while turning corners. Yet, I can feel his presence behind me. It isn’t a frantic chase. I walk briskly and he follows at the same even pace, matching me stride for stride. For lack of a better idea, I take a circuitous route to my house. I want to make sure he is indeed following me, taking every wrong turn I take. He does. My heart hammers. I can hear it beating over all other sounds—the crickets, the night wind and his footsteps. Houses are farther apart in the outskirts of the town. I approach one of these houses. I see the lights are on. I rush up the porch steps and bang the door furiously. “Open the door!” I yell. Then I find the door bell and ring it twice. Twice more. Again. No response. I have no time. He is just a few yards away, closing in on me. May be I frightened them with my frantic calls and banging. No one will open their door to a stranger at this hour in Southby. I kick the door one last time and head back down the road before my pursuer catches up. Without any weapon, I can’t risk a confrontation with him. My house is about a quarter mile away. I try to take bigger steps to put some distance between us. If he is armed, I’m an easy target. If he prefers a knife; I have the advantage of distance. If he has a gun, he can kill me right now or whenever he pleases. I just want to reach home and lock the door behind me. I feel an overwhelming urge to pee. But that can wait; at least for now. Glancing back once more, I see him among the shadows like a phantom, relentlessly keeping pace. But I still can’t see his face. He walks looking down. His hat and hair make it impossible to make out a face. I start to jog and then break into trot. I am panicking. But I can’t help it. As I near my house, I start to run. I don’t want to look back. Let him shoot me if he wishes, stab me if he can. Images of naked young men and corncobs flash through my mind. I run like a madman, my legs pumping back and forth. I stumble on something, but regain my balance without stopping. I can see my house now. Everything is a blur. I only hear my heart beating faster and faster and the wind howling in my ears. Only a few paces to go. I finally reach my porch steps. A wave of exhaustion overcomes me and I collapse on the steps. My panting is heavy. The door is right before me, the key in my pocket. I throw myself towards the door. He must be close by. I look to my right and see him walking briskly towards me. I must hurry. My fingers struggle inside my pocket and retrieve a bunch of keys. He must be closing in. I fumble to find the right key. I insert it in and unlock the door. I try to turn the knob but it slips. Sweaty palms. I can hear footsteps somewhere behind me. I try again and the door opens. I enter and turn around to see his silhouette walking in front of the house. His face is in profile, turned towards me. I slam the door shut and lock it. More panting. I run upstairs to my bedroom to look through the window. He is standing below, looking at my door. I can only see his hat, the rim hides his face. He waits a couple of seconds and then walks away around the bend and into the night. I rush back downstairs to make sure all the doors and windows are locked and pull down all the blinds and curtains. He is gone for now. I am safe. I can think clearly now. I decide not to call the police. What if he was just someone on a walk and not the killer? It could well be the truth. What if I was paranoid and my running made him curious and he followed me to my house. Or was it a warning from the Corn Killer? I walk back to the bedroom and lie down. I know sleep will not come. I also know that this is my last night in Southby. Many months pass by. I have shifted to London since being shadowed that night. It is a lazy Sunday morning and I am a bit drowsy. I sit near the window of my apartment to read the newspaper. The headline on the crime section makes flesh crawl and all laziness evaporates, leaving only dread behind. SOUTHBY ‘CORN KILLER’ IN CUSTODY I quickly flip my newspaper to look at the photograph of the maniac. A chill runs down my spine in anticipation. I know many old people in Southby and wonder if it is someone I know. But the face that stares at me from the newspaper photo is not that of an old, senile man. In fact it is of a young man. I feel like I’ve been hit by a running train. I recognize that face. Below the picture, in neat newspaper font I read the Corn Killer’s name—Alex H. Cooper. The room spins around me. Time has stopped. I have no idea how long I sit there unmoving. I read the report in the newspaper and everything becomes clear. Alex used the disguise of an old man. He used the corn so that no traces of semen or pubic hair were left behind. The gun he used belonged to his dead father. He mutilated his victims and left them in strange poses. He baffled the police for long but made one small mistake. Alex himself had told Greg and me while camping that the heads were cut off and placed between the legs like genitals. The police had kept this information away from the reporters and none of the papers reported it. When Greg was interviewed as part of the routine investigation he told them what Alex had said to him. How could Alex have known unless he was the killer? That was the big break and then everything fell together. Alex was kept under surveillance and was caught red handed during one of his escapades. My thoughts go back to the Alex I know. His parents were divorced when he was two. He had an abusive father who had died just a year ago. His obsession with serial killers and their methods was unusual. And he was big lad, with enough muscle to subdue his victims. It all fits. But I refuse to believe it was he who followed me that night. Now, I am sure. He would never want to kill me. He had plenty of opportunities to kill me before. He wasn’t psychopathic or psychotic killer. He made friends and valued them. Besides, at the time he was home celebrating his birthday with friends. I think it was just some old man on a walk and I panicked like a fool. Life dealt Alex a rough hand while I was born with a couple of aces up my sleeve. I know deep down we both are very much the same. Only difference perhaps is his pathological need to kill. Everyone has a dark side. I don’t see him as a serial killer. No, to me he is still Alex, my best friend. He is my reflection, only darker. He is my shadow. |
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| My Shadow Ravital rshtock@gmail.com |
#11 of 11 |
| 2497 words | |
| As a child, I watched my shadow on the brick wall of
the school and I was entertained by the notion that it followed me wherever I
went. Today, 20 yrs later, I watched my shadow on the ground, as I walked
through down town, Toronto and realized that all the things I’d done, like
my shadow, would follow me wherever I went; there was no escape. I came to this
city, to escape what I had done, but would it not always be right behind me? My
previous life. Would someone not see the shadow of sinister things that I left
behind? It was like a ticking time bomb, but I hoped no one would recognize me;
I’d come along way after all. It was 9 a.m.; I waited in line at Starbucks for a coffee. While everyone else, in their stern, business clothes, seemed anxious and angry at the long line, I welcomed the wait. After all, I had no idea what to do next. I noticed a young man reading the paper, and suddenly started to panic. What if my picture was on the front page and someone recognized me? Though it was close to impossible, since I was along way from home, the paranoia has intensified every second since I left. Suddenly, the man reading the paper looked up at me and studied my face. I wanted to run, but I froze! He was surprised by my reaction; I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Kristina? Is that you...how long has been?” the paperboy asked. I’d recognized him as soon as he spoke; we took several courses in University together back in Chicago. Well, several is an understatement. Coincidentally, we ended up in 90% of our courses together. As a result, we became close friends. He liked me, and I liked him, but he never made a move, and once I began dating his friend Sammy, we lost touch. “Adam…what are you doing in Toronto?” I asked hoping he wasn’t just visiting, otherwise, he may have heard about me already. “I moved here after graduation, it’s a beautiful city. What are you doing here? Is Beth with you?” He asked “Beth, no, I…haven’t spoken to her in years.” Beth was my best friend since grade school. She was my shadow, followed me everywhere I went, including University. She sort of idealized me and I loved her the same. “I am thinking about moving here, I have an open-ended ticket and I heard the art scene is great here.” I tried to re-act as normal as possible. “Oh, ya, it’s wonderful. Luminato is going on this week; it happens at the end of every summer, would you like to go? I’d love to catch up?” Adam asked. “Art show?” I knew I should be inconspicuous, but I had no idea what to do when I got here, I never thought I would make it this far, not across the border. And Adam, I missed him. “Yes, that sounds like fun, I don’t know anyone here. Do you know which hotel I should stay at, at a reasonable price?” “You don’t have a place to stay?” He looked surprised, but enthusiastic. “Kris, you can stay with me for a bit, next week I have to go back to Chicago, but you can stay at my place while I’m gone and get settled.” He offered genuinely. I could feel a thousand heartbeats for the one second he said he has to go back home. I tried to breath but I felt my lungs closing off all air passages. He is going back home to Chicago and he would find out everything! I would have to make sure he did not go. I’d make him work somehow or say I am sick. I had to stop him one way or another! “Well if you feel uncomfortable, just say so!” He accused. “What? No…I don’t” “So why do you look so freaked out?” he asked. “Oh, just thinking of all the things I have to do…find a job, a place. I would love to stay with you that would really help!” I quickly explained. “Great! I have a roommate though, Dylan, but you can stay on the pullout. Let me take you there now, you look beat. I’ll call work and tell them I’m running late, where’s your bag?” My bag! I don’t have a bag because I left with nothing in the middle of the night. How am I going to explain this without ringing any bells? “Oh, my luck…the airport lost my luggage, but hopefully it will turn up in the next few days” I answered, hoping he would believe my lies. “Oh, just your luck. Well you can buy a few things on the way, there are lots of shops around here.” He offered. It was just like him, such a gentleman, I suspected he hoped that this would be his second chance with me, his looked so happy to see me, but he held his composure so that he wouldn’t seem too eager. “Oh…I’d rather get settled” I responded. I thought I should stay away from the public eye for now. “Great, follow me,” he said as he started walking down Queen St. “Kristina…Kris, we’re here,” Adam said. I opened my eyes; I must have fallen asleep once I sat in the car. I don’t even remember walking to the car. I was just so tired; I hadn’t slept in two days. “Sorry, I’m exhausted,” I replied. “That’s fine, just stay awake in order to get up to my condo. I promise you can sleep once you get there. Dylan and I will be at work, so you have 5 hrs of no disturbance,” he laughed playfully. We took the large elevator to the top floor. PH. It was beautiful. I could see Adam has done well for himself. Marble counter tops, high windows, and a gorgeous view of the city. I was surprised that I could take a moment to appreciate the beauty. This was the first second in the 48 hrs that my mind was not filled with horror and paranoia. Adam gave me a quick tour of the condo and told me not to go in the room next to the washroom, since it was Dylan’s room. He talked about all the paintings hung throughout the condo and reminisced about how each one reminded him of some party we went to, class we took, or professor we hated. I tried to pay attention and seem interested but in reality I could not wait until he left, so I could gather my thoughts and think of my next move. For all I knew the police were already looking for me. Adam kissed me on the cheek, expressed how glad he was to see me and that he would pick me up at seven for dinner and the art festival. Then he was gone. I sat down on the lounge chair and stared out the tall windows at the busy city, knowing that this may be my last view of beauty, my last moment of silence. I may have to spend the rest of my life sharing a cell with a crazy woman named Charles. I put my head on my knees and could not help the flood of tears that erupted through my eyes. The images of August 22 played over and over in my mind, each time more gruesome… August 22… I was to T.A. Beth’s art class at the University, because she was under the weather. I waited in the classroom for about 25 minutes and no students arrived, I assumed there was a reasonable explanation and decided to head home. I sat on the bus and couldn’t help staring at my hand. I was not used to seeing the diamond ring Sammy had given me the day before. The whole ride home I laughed at the idea of calling him my fiance. I don’t even remember walking home from the bus stop, putting the key in the front door, or walking up the stairs to my bedroom. The next thing I remember was seeing the shadow of someone lying on the ground. When I walked through the door way I saw Sammy and Beth with blood all around them. My fiance and my best friend were dead and I was standing over them, not knowing how I got there. How could I explain this? A woman finds her fiance and best friend dead and does not remember the last minutes before, how would I ever prove my innocence; if I was even innocent at all? I panicked. I ran to the greyhound station and took the next bus as far as I could go. I woke up in Toronto, and here I am. Haunted by the images of the people I love the most, scorn from their betrayal, afraid, alone and a fugitive. I thought I should just turn myself in, but I know I didn’t do it. I am not a murderer, no matter how betrayed I may have felt. It seemed like minutes had gone by, but I spent the day sitting on the chair replaying the incident over and over again. Suddenly, the door opened and Adam was home. It was 7 already! I looked like a mess, Adam would be suspicious. “Kristina, you ready?” He asked as he walked into the living room where I was still sitting facing the window. I naturally looked at him when he called me and he looked upset when he saw my swollen eyes and the waterfall of tears. “What’s wrong? Don’t worry…you’ll find a job, a place. It will be OK. You can stay here as long as you need!” He said, as he wrapped his hands around me. “I..am...I’m just so scared” I said as I cried on his shoulder. “Is it Sammy? I heard about you two,” He asked. “How do you know about Sammy?” I asked. I hadn’t seen Adam in two years after all, how would he know Sammy and I were still together? “Face book, I saw you’re engaged,” he answered, and I could see the hurt in his eyes, like he’d lost his family pet. “Oh, right,” I changed my status when Sammy purposed; I was so excited to share the news. “Well, that’s why I left, we called it off,” I cried. If he saw my engagement to Sammy, then he must have known that Beth and I were still friends, since there are recent pictures of us online. At the coffee shop, I told him I hadn’t spoken to her in years. The idea of him getting suspicious made me panic again…a thousand heartbeats a second, lungs tightening up…feeling dizzy. “Sorry, I have to use the bathroom!” I said as I ran to the bathroom. I opened the door and realized it was the room that I was not supposed to go into, the roommate’s room. I would have walked away if I hadn’t noticed my picture on the wall. I pushed the door wide open and my hands started to shake. The whole floor was covered with pictures of me, from the last five years or more. From my first day in University. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, the door closed and Adam grabbed my shoulder. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO IN THIS ROOM!” He said viciously. “Adam, what is all this?” I cried in panic. “It’s you! Since the first time I saw you on campus, I knew we were meant for each other. I signed up for all the classes you took. I was so patient, and then my pathetic friend, SAMMY, asked you out. Your happiness is more important then mine, but I knew if I waited long enough you would see he wasn’t right for you. I’ve always watched out for you, like your shadow, I am one step behind you, in case you need me. But that son-of-a b-tch, Sammy, he didn’t appreciate you! When I saw Beth going to your house, I made sure he would never hurt you again!” “YOU KILLED THEM!” I cried. “They deserved it!” He said angry, yet stern. The last five years flashed before my eyes. He was always too nice. Every class we had together, he drove me home, and it was no coincidence he was here, in Toronto, at that coffee shop. He followed me here. This condo didn’t even seemed lived in; it seemed so bare, with all the paintings, like a museum. “Adam, you need help,” I said. “Why, all I’ve done is help you. You’re so sweet and delicate, I have to protect you.” He explained as he stared deeply in my eyes. Suddenly, I heard a knock at the door and a woman began to speak: “Mr. Stone, I know you rented this suite for two weeks; however, there has been an error, if you don’t mind, we would like to upgrade you. Also, there is a message from American Airlines, you left your suitcase on last night’s red eye; you can pick it up at Pearson Airport Baggage claims…hello, Mr. Stone?” the woman said through the door. Adam ran to the door before I could. “HELP ME! PLEASE!” I screamed over and over as I ran towards the door. “Is everything OK?” She said. “Please call the police!” I yelled. “What are you doing!” Adam yelled furiously, “I’ve helped you! Watched over you! All this time! You are so UNGRATEFUL!” He yelled. “No, Adam, please,” I replied as I walked away to find an exit point. I raced to the bathroom and locked the door before Adam could enter. Adam ran after me and slammed on the other side of the door several times as he screamed and roared with anger. I could hear him throwing different objects and I prayed that he would not be able to break the door down or I would be in the same place as poor Sammy and Beth. I kneeled down to the cabinet under the sink and frantically searched for any object I could use as a weapon. All I found is a hair dryer. Suddenly the door blasted open. I reacted quickly, and struck Adam with the hair-dryer over the head. Only it wasn’t Adam, it was a police officer. The woman must have called the cops when she heard my pleas. The cop fell down, but was ok. “Ma’am it’s ok, we’ve got him,” he said. I explained what happened at the police station. Adam was arrested. He is currently in a mental institution while he awaits his trial. I came to Toronto because I was running away from my shadow, and in the end I ran right into it, into Adam, who was always one step behind me. I thought about poor Sammy and Beth, whatever they did, they did not deserve to die. I stayed in Toronto, since there was nothing to go back home to, but horrible memories. Every now and then, I swear I feel as though someone is behind me, watching me, following me like a shadow, and I call to make sure Adam is still locked up. But I fear that just as my shadow, he will always be one step behind… |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club