Drenched in a coat of black, her identity was muffled. There was nothing human walking inside those clothes of hatred. The girl from the beginning disappeared with her adult years, and a kind of robotic shadow has taken over, walking in the history of its creator. The love from the beginning has been dyed black, a convenient colour that disregards all that is warm and hurts.

 

People often think that black gives strength even though the truth is not so far away. Black is evil and what is evil gives strength. There is nothing else to hide from when one baths in evil.

 

The city was black in her sights and it was soothing that way. Strength giving almost, to feel that the city and her is one. She saw the bad in everything and she was comforted that way. Night and day did not matter. There were no dialogs inside her either. She was her own keeper, guardian and angel.

 

The time was 5pm when she entered the train. There was nothing delightful and the hours and minutes did not matter. She was determined to disregard herself and let the shadows take over. There was no destination chosen. She was to obey the shadows.

 

There were people around her, folks going about their errands and businesses, but she never regarded them as flesh and blood. She could feel no warmth and could see no expressions. Some would gossip about her and sometimes isolate her. They could not see her shadow-keepers but they felt the distance and creepiness. It was normal for her to see people congregate against her. She was different, one way or another.

 

The Arizona River was rising above its low-tidal benchmark. At half past five she needed no food intake like others. The shadows fed her with emptiness and she was nourished that way. Emptiness kept her alive; it was her way of living. Time did not matter now. Shadows are timeless. Time stopped ticking for her the day she wrote her last words the remained forgotten in a spiral-bound booklet with brownish pages:

 

     © 2005 Joanne Bergenwall Aw