365 Day Writing Challenge 28: Shadow

365 Day Writing Challenge

28. Shadow: Imagine you are someone’s shadow for a day.

I watch him sleep, and I feel peaceful and content. I stroke his hair and wish that we could stay like this forever, warm and safe. But then his alarm goes off, bursting my perfect bubble. He staggers out of bed and into the shower. I creep behind him into the bathroom.

We are on the tram when he gets a text from her. Asking him if he wants her to get him a coffee. With a kiss on the end. I want to take his phone and smash it against the window.

Finally, his office. I’ve imagined this place so many times,now I finally get to see it. And the people. I play a game in my head, trying to match faces to the names he has mentioned so many times to me. And then I see her. I know what she looks like, of course. What is Facebook for? Again, I ask myself, why. Why am I jealous. Why would anyone be jealous of that bland, passive face? But, I realise, it’s not her I’m jealous of. It never has been. It’s the attention he gives her, the way he talks about her. How invested he is in her. I watch him now. He thanks her for the coffee. He laughs. He smiles. I feel sick.

I know I said it’s not her, but nevertheless I still detest her. Big fish eyes and weirdly perfectly grey skin and that placid smile…that smile is the worst. She needs some colour injected into her. In fact, no, what she really needs is…

I stop myself. I don’t want to be that bitter, that cruel. But I am that bitter and that cruel, I think. That’s why I’m here.

 

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Hope

Poetry

I should be you.

And you should be me.

I am an accident,

An anomaly.

The usurper the rightful king finds on his throne.

Someone somewhere has stumbled into a parallel universe

Where everything’s the same but a little bit different.

An alternative timeline

Where you stumble in the dark

Trying to get back to where you belong

To feel the pull of gravity once more.

But it doesn’t work that way.

You’re not Odysseus,

And I am not the suitors.

The universe is not made of rigid rules,

And we do not live lives of undeniable fact,

Treading down a narrow ditch that has been dug for us,

Until we reach a fixed point,

Every action, thought, breath, pulling us there.

(Featured image from Foter)


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