short story: being the shadow

Happy Halloween + Blessed Samhain! ♡

Today, a short fiction by me. Genre: a teeny eerie. Enjoy the shadowy wander! 

♡

She walks along, among meadow, among a fallen scatter of gold, rust, and scarlet, among sunshine so thick it can nearly be held and allowed to drip through cupped hands like honey.

She walks along, farther, deeper. Then, farther and deeper still. More meadow, more leaves, more dance of light against her skin, even as the breeze seems to cool with each step.

She notices how that breeze causes a new path to open through the grasses. How it is a hand slipped into hers that is pulling her along. How it is a hand to her back pushing her along. How it is a whisper in her ear that she cannot quite hear, but almost. Almost. She takes the new path.

The grasses eventually turn to brambles. The sunshine softens to a glowing echo as clouds push in and charcoal themselves. This isn't easy terrain. She could turn back. It is not too far, not really. And yet, the whisper grows in her ear, and she somehow knows the best way back is to keep walking forward.   

She walks along, farther, deeper. Then, farther and deeper still.

She reaches a grove. The trees are tangled mystery, some green, some holding their leaves through all the change, some bare wooden bones. The whisper grows louder.

She takes a step in, then another. Farther and deeper. She cannot see where she entered anymore, and the area seems larger than she had anticipated, each step a new world, each step a louder whisper. Light seeps in from above, enough to allow the trees to cast shadows along the ground. It is a continually moving art formation, erasing and re-forming and erasing.

As she walks among the shadows, she feels a little unusual. It is a feeling of heaviness, like gravity is clutching her, causing her to quicksand into the earth. Like the weight of the world is quite literally on her shoulders and there is no timeline in which she could feasibly have the strength to hold that kind of weight.

The whisper grows louder, louder, louder. She can finally make out what it says. A collision of memories, fears, perceived failures, times tears kept her from sleep. The words make her feel even more unusual, more uncomfortable. She shakes her head, as though to clear the thoughts, hoping to let them fly from her mind and be carried by wind. It is all just too much. The weight, impossibly, gets heavier. She keeps shaking her head. She closes her eyes and breathes. She shakes her head more.

The whisper ceases.

She begins walking again. Farther and deeper. Farther and deeper still. Each step now makes her feel lighter. Each step, she seems to lose gravity. Each step, she almost becomes breeze. She glances down and realizes she can barely see the outline of her physical form. Looking at her palms, she sees the faint lines, the bones, the hum of life, but only barely. Only barely.

The lightness, though, feels so divine.

She is vaguely aware of when her form fades all together, or maybe she is not aware at all. Maybe she will remember again when the seasons change, but she can't be sure. She feels so light in all this darkness.

As the tree shadows elongate, so does she. As they contract, so does she. As they tangle, so does she. Later, when they rest in the blanket of darkness, so will she.