A figure made of darkness, shadow. Silent. As I try to ignore my phantom I diligently type at my keyboard, words flow, meaningless and easy. This job is slowly driving me mad. I shiver and tell myself it has nothing to do with the shade silently observing me. How could it? There is no shade. If I were to turn, look directly at it, that would be the end. Or the beginning I suppose, rather depends on how you look at it. The end of sanity, the beginning of full fledged madness. How many years have I struggled to ignore the shadows, the whispers? The phone rang. A shrill sound breaking my silent contemplation and drowning out the tip tap of the keyboard.
Perhaps if I ignored the phone it would not exist as well. Perhaps the angry person on the other end of the line would just blip out of existence. Could I have such power? With a subtle sigh I lift the receiver, "Johnsons Complaints, How Can I Help You?"
As the little angry voice vents their frustration I continue to type, the shadow in the corner becomes darker, more solid.
All I have to do is look. Just turn my head slightly and lose myself. Yearning fills me. There is no shade, I tell myself, over and over, but, if there was, perhaps that would not be such a bad thing. Perhaps today was the day. An end or a beginning...