This note is to update you on how I've been. I know that you don't actually care. In fact, with you it's out of sight, out of mind. I firmly believe that you don't remember the torture that you put me through, unless it conjures images designed to amuse you.

The scars have never healed. You've left your marks. Physical. Emotional. Mental. Spiritual. Sorry if I'm boring you. I'll be brief. My hope is that you're still reading.

There are days when I wake up to a deeply seeded desire to hunt you down, torture you, then watch you slowly die by my hand. I imagine the look on your face as you come to realize that you are reaching your end.

Would you beg for mercy? Would you apologize? Would you dare ask, "Why!?"

It suffices to write that from this moment on I am,

Your Shadow

Light drains the dregs of colour from the world, like he drains the coffee dregs.

Sitting at the kitchen table in the present, so silent. Thinking back on the loud cheerful people. Quiet presses down on him, like hands out of the grey shadows.

Pressing and pressing, pushing and pushing, shoving him down and further and further—

The coffee is knocked across the table. He stood so quickly. Jerking back from the dark emotions. Clicks follow him through the house as he switches on all the lights. Trying to brighten up his soul.

Each breath ragged and uneven. The hands still pulling— never faulting. Never failing.

He stumbles into a wall, letting himself slide down. But that is as far as he will let himself fall. Eyes flick to the bare light bulb above the bare table.

"Stop." He speaks as if in an interview.

"Stop." Monotone and hollow.

The hands hesitate. Retract a little. Then burst forward. Hitting and tearing at his head. He screams- terrified and hurting and rattling. Blood sears red into his sight. The blinding sudden colour startling him. Startling the hands. They run back to the shadows. Pain pounds in his skull.

He lowers his bruised hands down to the cool floor.

"What have I..."

A woman with a friendly face kneels down in front of him. Her hair blonde and tightly curled.

"What have you done, darling?"

He blinks and the room is empty.

"I need a cup of coffee."