Nathaniel Lachenmeyer

I will never forget the day the shadows came to life, the day they finally separated themselves from the objects that engendered them and began to roam freely. It was not a problem for me. There were many who were afraid—shadows and darkness and their evil associations, etc. And there were many more who were simply confused, some to the point of temporary paralysis; you don’t really have to think about the role shadows play in your perception of the world until they suddenly disengage and assume a will of their own. Personally, I didn’t mind very much. After all, I spent most of my time indoors with the lights on high, writing on my computer. Shadows don’t play a significant part in writing, unless you are speaking metaphorically, which I try to do sparingly. No, it didn’t bother me much—in fact, I hardly noticed—until my own shadow began to write, to tell its side of things, its stories, which were, unfortunately and objectively, more interesting and original than mine. I persevered for a while after that, met all my deadlines, both the real ones and the self-imposed, as usual. But you can only tread water so long—I mean, after a while, enough is enough. Eventually, I had to give in. Last night, I turned off my bright flat computer screen for the last time. The sun is up now, and no shadow is where you would think it would be. I am writing this final missive by hand, the way I used to do when I was a kid and didn’t bother with words like ‘missive’ and ‘engendered.’ Then, my shadow be damned—I hope—it’s out the door and into the world with me.