Shadows in the Wake

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I met him at a bar that smelled of spilt whiskey and smoke, the kind of place where the shadows moved thicker than the patrons. He was tall, effortlessly handsome, the sort of man who seemed to absorb the light around him and bend it subtly in his favour. His smile was easy, his laugh low, carrying a hint of something older, deeper, that pricked at my awareness like a distant warning. Those days, I loved the danger.

We talked, drank, and moved through the evening like dancers on separate rhythms slowly finding synchrony. I told myself it was the charm, the alcohol, and the music vibrating through the floor. I wasn’t expecting anything beyond a fleeting connection. But when he drew closer, something inside me shivered.

The moment our lips met, the air around us shifted. It wasn’t sound or smell, it was deeper, a vibration in the marrow. I saw him. Not the man, but what lay beneath: a shadow coiled and alive, wings unfurling like some sort of an ancient beast, with a tail twisting around the warmth of my chest. It was insidious, subtle, like a predator hiding in plain sight. The hunger radiated from it, deep and insistent, curling tendrils around my awareness.

I recoiled, my heart stuttering, and moved back against the pillow of the couch, eyes wide and unblinking. Always open, because when I closed them, I felt the pull, the draining of my energy, the siphoning of my being into something that was not human. But something old. I told herself it was just a hallucination, a trick of light, and an overactive imagination. He smiled, ordinary again, unaware. Again, I convinced myself he was just a man.

Days passed, and the sensation lingered. My energy thinned, mornings heavier than nights, limbs dragging against the world as if gravity had doubled. I told herself it was fatigue, imagination, and coincidence, but the pattern was undeniable. Every encounter, every proximity to him, left me depleted. I was losing myself quietly, gradually, until the truth could no longer be ignored.

When I finally allowed myself to see, fully, it was a revelation. Shadows existed. They moved beneath the skin of people, feeding, lurking, and brushing against the unobservant. Some were small, almost imperceptible; others vast, ancient, and predatory. Some brushed against me in passing, some reached for my warmth, and some lingered, watching, spying, observing.

I learned to withdraw from the shadows that threatened me, to flinch from the ones that clawed at my sanity, and to dance with the ones I could study, the ones whose hunger could be observed without surrender. I no longer pretended the darkness wasn’t real. No longer fought it or denied it.

It changed me. My perception sharpened. I realised I had never been crazy. I had always seen too much, felt too much, and known too much. No matter how detached and oblivious I pretended to be. People’s energy, their hidden cravings, their inner demons, and their actual demons. All of it had always been visible, and impossible to ignore.

And in accepting it, I discovered a new kind of power. Quiet, steady, and uncompromising. Eyes open, always. No longer blind to what crawled beneath the surface, I move through the world like a prism, reflecting back every shadow that tries to cling to me.

I sees them all.
I flinch at some, withdraw from others, dance with a few, but never again deny their existence. I see. I always see.