That Damnable, Heavy Shade
I wrote the original script for this story in a single sitting after waking suddenly in the middle of the night. While there have been some edits, it's mostly the same story that burned in my soul. As writers, as well as other creators, I think this is a string that binds us all together at times and felt that it needed to be explored.
If you've ever felt this way, know that you're not alone; know that, through creation and imagination, we're all together, fighting off the darkness that often lurks just outside of views.
I lay here in a lightless room, flat on my back and spread like a starfish, eyes closed but unable to sleep. The only sounds are that of my window mounted air conditioner, my constant friend, the hum of its motor enough to drone me away to slumber but not tonight. Instead, I lay here, shrouded in thoughts of past mistakes, a slowly growing mountain of things that I need to do, or sometimes, nothing. My phone lights up with a notification for some fast food offer but I only notice the time: 2:38 AM
The nights where my mind is blank are the worst. At least with the others, I have something to latch onto, grounding me in the world of reality. Memories of laughing with my first wife. Or…the day I signed the divorce papers? Those happened, and whilst bittersweet, I can look back on them now and see where things went wrong. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.
Or, how about when I met my second ex-wife? Once again, the various ups and downs invading my thoughts, though the years of abuse and belittlement are much more prevalent. This time was also coupled with my time in the military. The high pressure of military life compressed with my domestic life, of making sure I didn’t break any eggshells, molded me into someone I never should have been. Luckily, I’ve mostly been able to reconcile, knowing now of the undiagnosed mental illness she suffered and years of therapy for myself. Still, these events happened, though ephemeral, in the grand scheme of things.
No, this isn’t what weighs on me this evening.
Some nights, and even some days, I become paralyzed with things I need to do. I know these things won’t get done unless I get out of bed and do them, but no matter how hard I scream mentally, I simply…can’t.
The laundry…it can wait. Could probably wear some of them again.
The trash…no reason to yet. Though I’ve pressed it down a few times, I could probably stuff it down some more.
That story…yeah, I started it, but no new ideas have come to me. I can’t be bothered to jot down anything. Just makes me lose interest.
That…project? The thing for…oh damn it, who was it? I know it was important, but my memory fails me and it feels like torture just thinking about pushing the matter.
At the moment? It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.
My day job certainly hasn’t helped. Not their fault. They’ve got a business to run and they pay me to keep things running. Luckily, the military taught me how to become numb and just get the job done, no matter how tired I am or how long the job takes. Seems I’m only able to do things when I’m being directed, reins and blinders guiding me into focus. After thousands of miles and hours upon hours of fixing the technology that keeps them afloat, some days, I don’t feel like I’ve helped at all. When I can rest, though I am exhausted, at least these memories were real as well.
No, the shade is something beyond time and space; a weight that presses me down and comes with no tangible thoughts.
As I lay here, muzzle facing the ceiling with my eyes closed, and hoping to fall asleep, I try to force thoughts into being. I think of the friends I’ve made over the last decade, their words of encouragement driving me to play with ideas I had never entertained before. The spark of creation added a whole extra dimension to my life and, seeing their praise and even critiques, bolstered me to do more and more. Then, I think of attempting to do the same for others and yet; it feels empty, hollow. I sincerely want to encourage others and their passions or creations, but looking back at my own words, I realize they came from the mask I wear and not the me that wishes to be the version of myself that faces the public.
Then it happens.
My mind goes blank. A complete landscape of nothingness, not even time exists here. My body becomes paralyzed and though I can feel the tension in my muscles, ready to move, nothing I’m able to conjure makes them shift. Not even my eyes can move, squarely fixed on a single kernel of popcorn ceiling. The only movement my body makes is the shallow breathing being forced upon me by the autonomic nervous system. The sheer weight of that nothingness invading me to the core is…frightening.
I want to fight it. I want to move. I want to think of anything, but I simply cannot. I drift aimlessly in a void, unable to determine if it’s of my making or forced upon me by some greater cosmic being. A frustration is building now, the one emotion that I’ve never had an issue latching on to; my anger, a fire I can trust in even the darkest of nights. In my mind’s eye, the embers appear like specks and float in front of me before coalescing together and this is my salvation.
With a jerk, I kick my leg and flail an arm, my hoof loudly colliding with the wall and my arm hitting my sleeping pet dog awake. I hadn’t even realized she was lying next to me until I lashed out, but she was now on the floor. Like a ticking pocket watch, I can hear the slow, unsure thumps of my pet dog’s tail of the ever present hum of the air conditioner. Forcefully, I open my eyes, a mild burn coming over them and yet, through only my own will, I keep them from shutting once again.
I need to get up.
Instead, I stare up at the ceiling, no longer feeling the entirety of that shade, but still feeling its presence, just outside of view. Briefly I ruminate on my inability to sleep, but with another jerk, I force myself to swing my legs over and sit up on the side of my bed, my pet dog still looking toward me, her tail thumping slightly faster now. On her face, I can almost see concern, but mostly uncertainty.
With a tremendous effort, I get up, turn on my lamp, and move from my bed to my chair, turning on the monitors to my computer as I think to myself, “Maybe I’ll watch some videos online.” This seems to be my favorite procrastination activity. I don’t have to think, or move, or anything. Just sit and watch, absorbing whatever appears before me.
In my inactivity, my mind races with everything else I could be doing instead. Not that it makes a difference how much I think about it. The thought of doing any of it leaves me paralyzed and frustrated. To the casual outsider, it would appear that I’m lazy or that I don’t care. Nothing could be further from reality. The amorphous shade has me and I can’t properly explain it. Am I alone in this struggle? Has the shade visited others? Are there more than one?
Suddenly, my primal mind latches onto something to my side. My head snaps left to face whatever it may be, but…nothing.
A trick of the brain. Or maybe when my pet feral-dog jumped back up on the bed, the flick of her tail struck a chord. Briefly, I feel silly and turn back to my screens. But after a few more moments, there it is again. This time though, instead of a quick flash, a slow movement darkens my side view.
Again, I snap left to catch whatever may be there, but again, all I see is the door to my bedroom; still closed, still darkened from the lack of light on that side of the room.
I’m just a silly horse, paranoid over nothing more than my own imagination. The audio of the video that’s playing now catches my attention and I turn back, this time intent to just ignore my paranoia.
As another thing moves in my periphery, I tell myself that it’s just shadows, a trick of the brain. But then a shiver courses through my spine as I watch, barely below my vision, as a shadowed hand covers the top of my own.
It was only then that I understood how wrong I had been. That damnable, heavy shade had followed me beyond its plane and into the real world. One by one, I can feel its tendrils coming over my shoulders, the crown of my head, and around my waist. As before, I can only give in and hope that my frustration and anger are enough to save me. For a moment, I tremble with a primal fear, my prey brain pushing me toward fight or flight, but ultimately, failing to make me move.
At the moment, just before I decide to let it take me, my phone lights up with a notification from a friend and the shade instantly vanishes. It was only then that I realized my breathing had stopped as I drew in a deep breath, breaking out of my the trance I had fallen into. With effort, my muscles strain to reach my phone to check who it might be. Someone probably liked a picture of some art that I bought or one of my half-cocked, half-crazed replies I post occasionally for a quick laugh.
Instead, it’s a message.
“Hey big hoss. You doing alright?”
It’s FluffyButt69, some random wolf guy I met briefly one time in a random chat about writing stories. My mind stumbles through its own fog to remember exactly what we spoke about last time, so it doesn’t seem like I’ve forgotten them. My memory has slowly been getting worse and worse as time marches forward and yet…
“Of course! Doing just fine. Getting my day started.”
This is a lie, of course. Just moments ago, I almost let myself be dragged into darkness. But who would believe that?
“That’s good! Hey, would you mind looking over something I wrote? I appreciated your comments on the last one before and wondered if this makes sense.”
Externally, I’m stone faced as I begin to type my response, but internally, my mind rushes with joy that someone has sought me out to ask my opinions and help with their creations. For the next several hours, we talk, joke, and discuss various ideas for the direction of their tale. My mind becomes completely immersed in the world and characters they’ve conjured up. Though the person they’re speaking to is the overly confident, obtusely silly mask that I’ve created, my true mind is pushing through and I, at least for a brief time, can feel a genuine connection in this creative space. No pretext of who or what I am and vice versa. Just two minds melding in the creative process as ideas are shared back and forth. It feels good to connect, to interact, even though I loath doing so in the flesh.
As our conversation comes to an end and we say our goodbyes, I feel weirdly fulfilled. Abruptly, the feeling of having to use the restroom hits me, more so than I had previously realized. As I turn to get up, I see the state of my surroundings and think to myself, “Maybe I can get this place cleaned up. Might finish my story as well.”
Note from the author:
All of us carry this shade within. However, its strength is different within each individual. For some, it’s a daily struggle. For some, they’ve only seen it a handful of times. And for some, the darkness took them.
While this is a dark topic, it’s important to talk about it and recognize that we need to be mindful of the people in our lives, regardless of if they’re online or in person. Even strangers. A simple gesture from one person could mean the world of difference to another; enough to bring a person back from falling into That Damnable, Heavy Shade.