You don’t feel pain, thankfully. They try to get rid of you with their light bulbs and open windows, grimace at you from doorways, and flinch when you flood a space suddenly. All you are is the boogeyman, feared across the lands as a monster lying in wait to strangle the life out of those who happen to fall in your clutches.
If only you were that callous. It would be better to be malicious, to covet the pain and fear that taints them when they’re alone with only you for company. Instead, you cower as they do. You fear as they fear, for you are afraid of the end as much as they are.
If anyone could find an end to you, it would be them.
Perhaps not this one.
She kicks in the door and strides in with confidence, a handbag slung over her shoulder and sunglasses pushed up onto her head over long dark hair. “Hello darkness, my old friend,” she greets the room that is empty except for you. She laughs and flips on the light switch, forcing you into corners and trailing in her footsteps as she walks.
She dumps her bag onto the coffee table and flops onto the couch, kicking her feet onto an armrest. “That’s funny, isn’t it? I mean, that whole phrase is plastered all over the internet. God knows I’ve laughed my ass off over some of those pics.” She grins, chuckling. “But when you think about it, it’s weird, right?”
She pushes herself into a sitting position, sweeping her arms in large gestures as she says in a mock-deep voice, “‘Hello darkness, my old friend.’” Another laugh, and her voice returns to normal. “I know it’s supposed to be this big depressing thing. I haven’t ever listened to the song, but I’ve seen enough sad crap to know about the whole ‘oh woe is me, my only friends are the shadows in my soul’ cliché.” She pauses, taps her chin as she fixes her gaze onto the lit wall, nowhere near any piece of yourself.
“No matter how emo or poetic you are, I don’t think anyone, like, legit wants darkness as their friend. That’s pretty insane.”
You wilt, the room brightening slightly for it.
She starts, feet shuffling as if suddenly uncertain they are safe on the floor. With hesitance, she hovers a hand over her thigh, casting a shadow. “Well, at least the metaphorical darkness, like the darkness in someone’s heart. No one wants to be pals with a depressing guy like that. I can’t really say the same about darkness; never met her.”
It occurs to you that you could give some signal of acknowledgement. It would be easy to show yourself and twist the shadows into a picture for her. There is an overwhelming urge to beam, to beam in a way that you will never be able to due to the limitations of an incorporeal existence. Despite this, she should know what she has done for you.
It would be easy.
She stares at the shadow of her hand, then throws both limbs into the air. “Welp, that’s enough crazy philosophy for today.”