Shadowplay (Creative Writing)

Light streams in through every window, saturating objects with heat. The shadows are all that I see.

Cast against the wall. Cast against the floor. Cast against the objects. Every object has a shadow, and every shadow is an object. The shadow claims everything it touches. Shadows sweep across their property, lengthening and growing deeper, engulfing objects in darkness.

The light fades. The shadows remain.

When does the shadow end, and the darkness begin? Is darkness a coalescence of these shadows, scattered from various objects and forms in a space? Is it the absence of light?

What can I see in the textured, interwoven fabric of darkness other than shadows?

Everyday, every-evening, every-morning the shadows return. Their consistency is remarkable, and their positions unchanged. The relentless cycle of light and darkness repeats.

Close your eyes. Open your eyes. Intermittently, the light and darkness fade. An ongoing contest, a clash of wills, but as a mere, passive observer – these shadows are things that I am powerless to change.

Unless I reach for that convenient light switch, and flood the room, banishing the shadows to the cornered avenues. They’re still present, just in another form. Eventually, the light will extinguish. The shadows, immortal, will sweep their veil of darkness upon my vision.

Impenetrable, immortal, and ever present – the shadows I cast are the only ones I control.