I NEVER SLEEP WITH THE LIGHTS OFF.
At some point, I'd lost my shadow. It wouldn't follow me anymore, and I lost sight of it. I wish it had just disappeared completely or at least left me alone. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of it moving along the walls out of the corner of my eye. I swear it looked less and less like me every time; the fingers were too long. If I turned off the lights, I'd feel like that thing could be all around me.
They say you can't see your own reflection in a dream, and it's a bad omen if you do. Your reflection could be a doppelganger: an evil spirit in disguise. For me, it was the other way around. In my nightmares, I could always see myself in the mirror, but I wasn't scared of my reflection—I was scared for it.
An awful feeling in my gut told me that if my reflection disappeared, then something terrible would happen. I never sleep with the lights off, hoping they'll stay on in my dreams and the long fingers won't take my reflection away.
On my way home from the last day of school, I suddenly became aware that it would be the last time I could ride my bike through those lonely streets. The streets themselves would always be here, of course, and I could mime the ride through the exact same route I took to and from school for the past three years if I wanted to, but it wouldn't be the same—it wouldn't be real. After I graduate, these streets will see me as a stranger.
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As I waited at the last stop light on the route, I contemplated just turning back. I stared straight at the bright red stop light. You don't have to go home right now, do you? Go ahead, prolong your suffering. The glowing red eye taunted me, as if to mock my anxiety.
When the light turned green, I pedaled forward aggressively as if in defiance. A speeding motorcycle cut through the wind like an arrow. I never had a chance to react. The rider turned sharply and was thrown off his vehicle, skidding across the asphalt. Now unmanned, the machine kept its momentum and slid straight at me—orange sparks flying everywhere. I lost my balance and fell off my bike a split-second before the motorcycle crashed into it. Save for some light bruising, I was okay.
While I sat on the curb in shock, a truck driver stopped to help the motorcyclist who was bleeding out on the side of the road. From the other side of the intersection, I saw a crow land on a traffic mirror; it looked down on us silently. Below it, the mirror reflected a grisly scene: the trashed motorcycle, my crumpled bike, the frantic truck driver, the dying motorcyclist, and where my reflection should've been…nothing. I wasn't there.
In my place, was a shadow.
I felt its cold fingers around my neck—
—Finally, I can turn off the light.