Deep Concussion
I - The Arrival of the Shadow
I met him where I meet all my thoughts: In the corridor behind my eyes.
He wasn't real. But then again, neither was I.
A silhouette. Black, yet undefined. A shape standing at the far end of my mind's hallway. Silent. Watching.
Waiting.
Every time I closed my eyes, I found him closer.
I told myself it was just stress. Just exhaustion.
But shadows don't move without purpose.
II - First Conversation
The first time he spoke, it wasn't with words. It was with weight.
A heaviness pressed against my skull, forcing me to look down, forcing me to listen.
Then came the whisper:
"Why are you pretending?"
I didn't answer. Not because I refused... But because I didn't know what he meant.
Or maybe I did. And I was terrified.
III - The Room with No Walls
One night, I found myself in the room.
Page 2It wasn't a dream. It wasn't memory.
It was a space. Endless, yet claustrophobic. Dark, yet suffocatingly clear. A room that smelled like regret.
He stood there, the shadow. Waiting.
I asked him, for the first time:
"Who are you?"
He smiled. I felt it. Not on his face. But in my bones.
"I'm what you buried."
IV - Unraveling
Each night, he peeled layers off me.
Not skin. Beliefs.
He questioned everything:
My fear? A lie.
My morality? A mask.
My prayers? Survival mechanisms.
He didn't argue. He just... stood there.
And the silence between us shattered me more than words could.
I hated him. I hated that he knew. I hated that part of me wanted him to win.
V - Collapse
One night, I stopped speaking.
I sat in that room with him.
Breathing. Existing. Not fighting anymore.
I looked at him, truly looked, and realized:
Page 3He wasn't a stranger. He wasn't my enemy.
He was the version of me I didn't let exist.
The part of me that accepted the fall. That stopped resisting.
I envied him. Because he looked at peace.
VI - The Choice
He spoke, one final time.
"Join me."
No threats. No promises.
Just... invitation.
And for the first time, I asked myself:
What if peace wasn't on the other side of resistance?
What if peace... was surrender?
VII - The Ending That Wasn't
In the end, I didn't choose.
Or maybe I did.
I woke up, every morning, unsure if I was myself... Or the shadow wearing my skin.
I moved. I worked. I laughed.
But inside, I existed in that room. With him. Not as prisoner. Not as visitor. But as part of him.
And every night, before sleep claims me, I hear his voice:
"Welcome home."
The End.