Shadow Man

by Lola Pitman, age 13
Shadow Man Lola is a seventh grader. She loves to play sports and is a very active person. She wrote this story as a showing of solitude and what shadows would be like if they came to life.

“I love the smell of the fresh air and the feel of wind gracefully blowing my hair, whipping it away from my face. This is one of the times I feel free. My stress thousands of miles away. Just sitting and looking out across the landscape to where the brilliant sun is slowly disappearing.”

I love the smell of the fresh air and the feel of wind gracefully blowing my hair, whipping it away from my face. This is one of the times I feel free. My stress thousands of miles away. Just sitting and looking out across the landscape to where the brilliant sun is slowly disappearing. The strokes of millions of shades of colors sweeping above me and being rushed into nonexistence. I love most of all, the calm that comes with the dark blue, looming sky. It seems like all sounds are scared to move. But I am not scared, but the sounds are. Slowly as the sun says its final goodbyes, I watch as the shadows behind the beams of rocks come alive, dancing in the moonlight. At this moment, I wish that I could control those dancing figures of darkness, bend them to my will. I imagine one leaping into pools of light and taking on a human form to waltz with me. I open my eyes, my concise self never noticing that I ever closed them. I look down, ashamed that I could ever think that something like that could be real. I don’t notice that all is still except myself breathing. Except not all is actually still, the shadows are moving too, aren’t they? My mind wanders again to the dancing figure of shadow. Suddenly, even the moon loses light. Eerie music starts to play. Ups and downs, sweeps of sadness, and bellows of jolly float through the air. I hear little twinkles of laughter bouncing on the wind, the sounds are not scared anymore. They are dark sounds though, meant for the night and the looming, dark blue sky. The sound jolts to a stop, the end of the song or is it just the beginning? Out of the shadows or part of one, steps a man tailored to the finest of beauty. I don’t second-guess myself for a moment, this man is real. A shadow is solemn, this man has sprite, a happiness to each step. He bends low at the waist and unravels a hand for me to take. I tentatively take a step forward and gracefully accept the hand given. The sweeps of sadness and bellows of jolly start up again but at a more soothing tempo. A song meant for me and my shadow partner. Slowly, as if scared, the shadow starts to slide into movement pulling me with it. The cold of the night wind pushes us together, pulling the imaginary strings of a shadow orchestra into submission. The air is warm, radiating safety, and I want to slip in. So, I do. My arms wrap around his neck, and I feel the cold of his hands. I shiver. I lay my head on his chest, my height close to reaching his chin. I hear a heartbeat, this man is real. But I don’t care if this is all a fleeting dream because I know that this moment of solidarity I will not forget. I cannot forget. Shadows are always there.

The shadows beckon like they always do, pulling me in. I refuse to be swayed. Go to meet him, go to meet him, I tell myself. I fall into the will of my mind. Where would he be, the most shadow near, of course. And so I walk the trail to where I first conjured this man. The beams of rocks reach up towards the sky around me, and slowly, I walk into darkness.

 

The End

 

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