It had been months since the figure visited. I must've spent hundreds of moneys trying to find the perfect pair of pants to attract the apparition. Every night I would lay a new pair on my desk chair, do a little twerk, and go to bed, anxiously waiting for my blurry friend.
Seasons passed, and after several haircuts and a closet full of unusual pants and shorts, I accepted my fate. Surely it was all a beautiful dream. Surely my mind had been playing tricks on me. That's what I would tell myself - being crazy was easier than being unloved.
I gathered the heaps of clothing and shoved them all in bags, ready to be donated. As I folded the last pair, a familiar orange blur plagues my vision. "Bootylicious" - the first item I bought after my peculiar ghost left my life. I carefully placed it on top of my bed, a symbol of my last shred of hope that the specter would haunt me once more. I vigorously twerked to a sad piano melody, and left to the donation centre, with bundles of rejected offerings in my arms.
The odd one crawled out of the waves and collapsed on dry sand. In its life, it found only one purpose, and it was about time it fulfilled it. It lefts as fast as it arrived last time it visited you. Perhaps in its haste, it was afraid it would've stayed for too long. It was right. It was glad you weren't the one it stayed with. If you were, you would've been engulfed in the shadows, dragged deep into nothingness and the only remains of you would be memories. Pulling someone into oblivion was a terrible fate for both the shadow and the pulled one. It was glad you were still there. It peeked through the window as it passed by. Out of curiosity ? Out of malice ? It couldn't be out of care, could it ? This night was just one night, many nights ago. It couldn't mean anything. And yet...
The night after its visit, it noticed the pants neatly folded for it to take. It promised to come back for them, but got caught, tangled in the one it led to their heartbreaking fate. Many moons have passed, and the pants were still there. It felt its shadow dissolving, which pained it considering that's all it was. Shadow. Volatile. Futile. Uncaring and uncared. Or so it thought. You cared enough to keep the pants on display, and it cared enough to feel its heart collapse on itself at the mere sight. It took advantage of the fact that you weren't there to slip into your room through your cracked open window.
It gently took the pants. They were horrendous, and the fabric was not very comfortable. It shook its head with a smile. It grabbed scissors and cut into them and made it into booty shorts. It pulled its heart strings out of its chest and sewed the hem with it. It placed them neatly on your pillow. Now, you will not have to suffer the scorching heat anymore, and you will do so with pizzazz.
