I am a shadow. I belong to a girl who's about 7 or 8. She's afraid of me, calls me dark and spooky, but I don't know why. I'm only ever out during the day when the sun is shining brightly and she has a skip in her step. Of course, I'm always with her, even at night, even on a cloudy day. When she can't see me, it's because I'm under her feet, bearing up her weight and propelling her forward.
I love my girl, but she's afraid of me.
She got on stage once for a school play. Her sheep's costume made me expand and grow lumps, and then something strange happened: the lights hit her from several angles and I split into three parts. We each mimicked her every move. I was threatened at first, worried that one of them would try to replace me. Then I grew fond of them. Being a shadow can be lonely work. But just when I was excited to spend the rest of my life with them, they faded away. She retreated off stage, and it was back to just her and me.
I love my girl, but she's afraid of me.
Someday, she'll die. Shadows never die. What will I do then? Shall I lie between her and the satin lining, cushioning her into the afterlife? Shall I mourn her for eternity? If she turns to dust and blows apart, I will blow apart, too. I'll spend my time in a million different places, watching other shadows with their girls, knowing that someday they will share my fate. I'll try to warn them, but it's not like they can do anything.
I am a shadow. I love my girl, but she's afraid of me.
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