writing prompt: you can't run from the shadow. but you can invite it to dance.
it has been the ruin of many a man. past deeds, past bloodshed. hearts left cracked by the roadside. and they run, and they run, and they blur their vision with drink thinking they will not see it crawling in the corner of their eye; leering up and over them against the tavern wall.
we fear the Maker, we fear the Old Gods, we fear the Wolf that howls to remind us of our place. but there is nothing more that we fear than the shadow that waits inside all of us.
he need never fear. he is the shadow of his Master, carrying out his whims like a puppet on strings.
had he tried to run, in the old days, when his soul was new and his legs could barely carry him? when the man was a giant and the world was from a storybook? he did not remember now. nor did he try to run. the SHADOW was constant. the thoughts in his mind; the darkness in his soul.
they said ‘boy; you are beautiful’ and ‘boy; you are loved.’ they said ‘are you alone? we can sing you to sleep.’ they said, ‘just a little push,’ ‘just glass on her fingers,’ ‘the blood is so beautiful for painting us pictures.’
and he carried out their cruel little mischiefs so that he and the demons could laugh together. so that they would embrace him.
were his voices real men; they would have claws and horns and ruby eyes. they would be BEAUTIFUL and TERRIBLE and they would love him while he danced in their arms.
AND CLAW HIS FLESH WERE HE TO LEAVE. AND SCREAM, AND CLAW, AND SCREAM, AND REMIND HIM THAT THE WORLD IS THEIRS. THAT HE IS THEIRS.
‘ be our friend, be our friend… ‘ it’s easy. the shadow loves you. why do men run so, he wonders?