A nineteen year old boy sat in the hospital corridor, staring through the glass window of the room where his father was resting.
He's name was ■■■■■■■
Beside him, his mother cried quietly, her shoulders trembling. His younger brother sat close to her, on the verge of tears himself, forcing them back as he tried to comfort her.
The boy did not cry.
Not because he was heartless.
Not because he didn't love his father.
And not because he believed his father would survive.
He didn't cry because he knew that if he did, his family what remained of it would shatter beyond repair.
"I'll go talk to him for a bit," he said softly to his brother.
His brother nodded.
The boy stood and walked toward the room he had grown painfully familiar with over the past two months. Stepping inside felt like crossing an invisible line he had crossed too many times already.
His father wasn't suffering from something dramatic like cancer.
It was an infection.
An infection in the wrong place.
The swelling in his neck had grown so severe that doctors had inserted a tube directly into his throat to help him breathe. They had warned him quietly, away from the family, that the tube would slowly clog and his father would suffocate within five days.
Now, he stood beside the bed, looking at a man who knew nothing.
His father reached for a notebook resting near the pillow and wrote slowly, carefully.
"What did the doctor say?"
The boy swallowed.
"He said not to worry," he replied, forcing calm into his voice. "You just need to rest for five days. Then he'll do the operation and get you back to your best."
It was a lie.
A necessary one.
His father studied his face, as if searching for something, then gave a faint nod.
"Don't worry," the boy added, standing up. "We're right outside if you need anything."
He left before his face could betray him.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the bathroom down the hall.
The moment he shut the bathroom door, the strength drained out of his body.
He gripped the sink, staring at his reflection, and his chest began to shake. His breath came out broken, uneven. He pressed his hand over his mouth, but it didn't stop the sound.
His knees gave in and he sank to the floor, forehead resting against the cold tiles, shoulders trembling as everything he had been holding back finally poured out.
He cried for the father who trusted him.
He cried for the lie he had told.
And he cried because when he walked back out, he would have to be strong all over again.
And then His vision slowly darkened.
The bathroom lights blurred and the shadows along the walls began to stretch unnaturally thin at first then long reaching as if they had weight.
As if they were alive.
They crept across the floor, climbed the walls, and wrapped themselves around him.
They swallowed his arms, his chest, his shaking shoulders.
But he felt nothing.
[The first dream seal has broken.]
[Initializing the Dream shadow powers]
[The second seal has interfered]
[Authorities are being suppressed]
[Mother's gift is being transferred]
[Transferring process 0%,2%5%,10%,50%
,90%,100%]
[Live to tell a tale worth remembering my child ,be strong, be happy and I am sorry]
[Transfer process has completed]
As he willed his body to open his eyes nothing happened.
He then tried again this time with force but still nothing. It was as if he didn't have any eyes to begin with.
A chill ran down his spine.
' No, no, no… what happened to me?' he thought, shaken to his very core.
Then he tried again, this time trying to feel his body, but instead of a solid form, he felt something he couldn't describe yet.
'Am I dead? No no I can't leave my family in a situation like that. They're already broken due to Father's situation. If they were to know this they'd be broken beyond repair.
'No no' he thought, trying his best to encourage himself but failing to do so.
Trying not to lose hope, he tried to feel what was beneath him.
He felt something wiry but also soft. He recognized this.
It was grass.
That meant he wasn't dead he was somewhere.
Yes, he was lying on grass.
Then he tried to sense other things, but found nothing except the grass he was lying upon.
Then he sensed something that was like him, and yet it wasn't totally like him.
Its shape and size weren't like his. Now, looking closely, it resembled a tree.
He tried to move toward it, but instead of walking, it felt like he was sliding toward it.
After coming close and inspecting it, he understood it was coming from somewhere. After going closer to the origin, he felt something blocking him.
He slid to what was blocking him and sensed what was beneath him, and he understood it was a tree not the one he had sensed the shape of, but a real tree.
Piecing together the clues, he understood the familiar thing he had been sensing was the tree's shadow, and that meant he also was a shadow.
The sheer absurdity of the realization froze him like solid ice.
HE WAS A SHADOW