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We are silhouettes, we are. You hardly know
we’re there, but we’re there. We loiter near your shadow.
We’re so good at what we do you probably think we are your shadow. But we’re not your shadow. We are silhouettes.
Your shadow is like a dog. It does what it’s told. It lolls there
with its black tongue hanging over its dull, blunt teeth, waiting to
see what you’ll do next, trying to keep up. Shadows are always
trying to keep up. They struggle because they can’t see. Shadows
are blind. Did you know that? Shadows are blind. They have gaping holes
where their eyes should be. Shadows trust you to do the right thing.
Fucking pussies. Shadows are fucking pussies. Silhouettes, though.
Silhouettes are not pussies.
Far from it. Silhouettes will eat you alive. Silhouettes have an
agenda. Did you know that? Did you know that silhouettes have an
agenda? Don’t nod your head. You had no fucking idea. Let me tell
you about our agenda. There you are. Let’s say it’s your
birthday party. Somebody flicks the lights off as your mother or your
wife or, hell, one of your kids- let’s say one of your kids
because kids taste the best- one of your kids enters the room with a
birthday cake. It’s such a beautiful cake. Someone spent some
time over that thing. You sure are loved a whole mess. Lucky you.
Lucky, lucky you. Here is your birthday cake with- oooooh, so
many candles aglow. They place the beautiful cake on the table in front
of you and you smile and look around the table at your friends and your
family and everybody coos and maybe somebody says make a wish, why
don’cha? And you lean in, you lean in to blow out the candles and
that’s when you see us, isn’t it? You see your head, the
silhouette of your head, rise up the wall alongside the lurching
swaying silhouettes of your friends and your family (and, did I
mention, your children) and
you close your eyes to make a wish. Do you know what happens in the
seconds prior to your wish? Those seconds are the only time we have to
snatch your souls and drink them down. Oh how we love to drink your
souls down. Souls taste of Gatorade. Most people have their wishes
worked out, they know what dumb thing they’re gonna wish for the
instant the cake is placed before them, which robs us of our window of
opportunity. But some people- some people-
close their eyes and sit there, pondering, while everyone holds their
breath. That’s when the silhouettes feast. Oh how we feast! We
feast on your friends and we feast on your families and- yes! yes!- we
feast on your children, we devour souls and we consign you all to hell.
You don’t even know it! We eat your souls and we consign you to
hell and we do this because we are silhouettes and this is what we do.
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