Shadow Hunters

Wayward

The creature sweeped itself  accross the floor. Back in the days when he had a name, he barely moved at all. His terrain was under the bed where the darkness was permanent and the floor chilly cold. It was all that was needed to survive.

To survive only. It did not allow freedom.

Yet part of the shadow creature's nature is to lurk the most shadowy areas as an entity. Not all will sight him. The few who do are like curses, like dooms not meant to be born. If his brittle passive hands had the strength about them, he would have twisted each one of their necks, like snapping of a wood in summer.

Like his brother's.

When he had a name, he didn't see the world much. He had to stay confined under that bed. He was ushered out only to engage in chores that were torturous to him. If he failed, it was worse. The strange beam of light would be pointed at him, meaning to burn a hole where it aimed. It burnt several times. He is still healing.

A shadow brother passed him in soundless ecstasy, meeting its trembling gaze onto his the moment they crossed. The moment they crossed only. They never looked back again.

When he had a name, he saw only one other shadow brother and none.

That brother would live in the ceiling cupboard and occasionally slide down to participate in the play making. As shadows, both of them frail against the authority who commanded them. Both of them suffocated over every word that required constructing, both of them helpless when the burning light would punish them. Otherwise, there would have been two twisted necks.

He was not weak anymore. The cold recovered him. The secret power of the rain brought him to existence again and he thanks the sky for it. Pedestrians around him closed their umbrellas and took part in the peaceful march. He could sense that the clouds weren't quite done. There will be heavy pouring again the same night. He could taste the advent in the cool air, in the vagrant wind, in the soft murmurs of the clouds. A storm was approaching.

When he had a name, he couldn't taste the world at all.

The sky's intense grey colour changed to pale. He preffered the rain for many reasons. The clouds shielded him from the  poison of sunlight and it is not too dark for the humans to switch on their various sources of light. And of course, it's just cold enough and the he can watch the humans go about their way. Rain is a system that barely stood on the way of their restless journeys. It was part fascinating to see them walk. When born, he would  watch the humans- the strange creatures exercising oblivion on their surrounding. He soon understood human could not see him or any of his brothers nor touch them. He was accustomed of having the strange creatures as part of the sorrounding-like the air, the streets, cats and dogs, houses and buildings.

But that wasn't the truth. Some, he realized, some of them were certainly aware of his existence, his presence and some of them could capture him-just for the zest of it. Humans, he learnt, when they can see are as destructive as any light out there.

But such exceptions are rare. Most will just pass through him like the wind, never noticing he was there. Never.

When he had a name, he couldn't have the same relief. Paranoia had him breathing.

All that when he had a name. He doesn't anymore.

He shrieked unknowingly. A man stepped on him. He coiled in agony under his step. For that one moment, fear possessed him, confusion sorrounded him. The old paranoia was resurfacing.

Only for that moment.

The man lifted his foot soon enough and in the half confusion, half terror, he dragged himself to the nearest alley-to squeeze between the trash cans to evade. His ball like eyes horror struck.

The moments passed like heartbeats. The sky still grumbled and the wind was accelerating. He watched from his place between the cans, waiting for the fear to recede.

Then the cheerful voice.

"I can see you."