Shadow Puppets

_-One-_

Where do you run when you have nowhere to go?

Where do you hide when you're in an empty room?

You can't.

Maxwell ran. He ran fast, but still, they followed. He was only fifteen. He barely had any experience, in frankly, anything, but they still wanted him. No, not wanted him. Needed him. The shadows of the hearts he captured haunt him. He cannot escape. Endless running, endless darkness, all it does is lead to more. That's when he stopped. He allowed the shadows to overwhelm him, to capture him. Darkness.

Maxwell woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. Another nightmare. It was always the same. Nothingness. Just an image of him running. But somehow this nightmare never ceased to terrify him. Today is that day. The start of a new age. His twenty first birthday. Most people would be glad, welcome it with open arms, it's the iconic year of your adulthood, but Maxwell just dreaded it. That's one more year I spent trapped. He sighed heavily. Nothing about Maxwell can even be considered normal. Yeah, he looks pretty normal, an average young adult. But one thing made people look twice, and it wasn't a good thing. Maxwell had a lack of shadow. Most people don't go around making sure everyone has a shadow, but their subconscious notes it, regardless of them noticing. Since Maxwell could remember, he'd never had a shadow. All the shadows seemed to bend around him, giving him a pathway. Maxwell Wodahs, he was once like everyone else. A small fish in the ocean. But a dark force lurks inside of him. He is a shadow puppeteer. He has the ability to control shadows, but not to his will. They are in his head, telling him cause havoc, to rule. It is a good thing it's not his heart. There would be no way to avoid the voices in that case. Maxwell didn't know how to avoid them. He can't sleep without being woken up. He can't talk to someone without blurting out the shadow's answer. Consequently, he is often ignored by the simple minds that plague the country. He doesn't know when he got this abnormality, nor how he got it, for him, it was always just... There.

Disgruntled, he sat at the lone black table to eat his breakfast. It was the same thing everyday: Toast and a cup of black coffee. He didn't need much to survive, and rarely ate. He never felt hungry. Food was never satisfying. Neither was drink. He could never take a girl on the cliché date to a ridiculously expensive restaurant who's food you could make at home for cheaper. But maybe it's the waiters. Maybe girls like the waiters. Maxwell's mind debated what it was they liked about the cliché restaurant, until he got bored and decided to go for a walk. Although it was his 21st birthday, he didn't feel special, nor did he want to celebrate. He had no known relatives, therefore has celebrated all his birthdays he could remember alone. But what does "alone" really mean? Was a question he asked himself often. Does it mean you're unhappy being without someone's company? Or is it simply that you are alone? As Maxwell strode through the still dark streets, it felt strange. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. It may be 5:00am, but you normally see the odd car, but today, deserted. He felt heavy, like he called fall asleep any second. But he couldn't. Every step he took felt like another heavy brick on his shoulders.

"What In The World?" He gasped, trying to breath steadily to stop him collapsing.

Happy Birthday. You're such a grow up now. You deserve a gift from me, one wish, what'll it be?