Shadows

It’s midafternoon. The sun shines ferociously from above as I make my way home from a pleasant day at the beach. The sidewalk floods full of people despite the recent disappearances. There’s a man in a gray suit and long slacks, despite the sweltering summer heat, who catches my eye. It’s not so much his suit I’m interested in, it’s his shadow. When he raises his hand up to catch a paper flowing in the wind, his shadow lifts its foot. Now I’m sure I’m only seeing things but I follow him nonetheless. The man continues to walk forward and occasionally glances over his shoulder almost as if he knows I’m trailing behind. I stare so intently at his shadow now, waiting for it to move differently than its maker, so much so that I run into the man’s back. He stops dead in his tracks; a smile forms on his face. Without warning, I feel something on my leg. I look down and see the shadow’s dark ghostly hands rise from the sidewalk and wrap around my ankles. Swoosh. Darkness. Now I, the shadow, follow the man, waiting for the next curious passerby to add to my collection.