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Shadow Person

I finally get the prize! Her young mind thought. Eager to see what it was, as the prize had always been referred to As the prize and nothing else. The relatives waited until the last non-relative had exited the party Before the undertones and murmuring started. She smiled as she heard them say “what about the prize?” Her mother said, “Don’t hurry me!” But of course, they did, being Whites. All of the Whites were type A’s and in a hurry. She opened it up with trembling hands, and stared. An antique mirror with no specialness at all. She was vastly disappointed. She knew her feelings were on her face, but this was a tribute of her Daddy’s side. They were feelers, healers, not type A in any way. “You don’t like it,” Her mother whispered She could not stop the tears. They were sliding down her cheeks. Her voice was mute. She shook her head sadly, trying to deny it, But the disappointment was unbelievable. Take it to your room tonight, and sleep on it, her mother suggested. She nodded. Her birthday ruined. That night her Daddy said to her, “We adore you, and if you ever want Me to get rid of that mirror, I will.” She laughed, but thought she might. In the middle of the night she felt someone in her room. Her eyes popped open. She saw a shadow person walking around. It was looking for something. Her heart beat really fast. She hid under her covers. The next day her parents were gone. In the dining room behind their chairs were new mirrors. For a second she saw a flicker of her Daddy. He looked enormously sad. Then he was gone. She looked closely for her mother but only saw herself. She suspected their disappearance had something to do with her mirror. Should she break it? Would that bring them back? Should she break the new mirrors? She was on her own in the day time now; fixing her own meals. No biggie since she was twelve, and felt rather grown up. Evenings were more difficult. She heard footsteps. Sometimes she saw Shadow Man. She spoke to him but he acted like she did not exist. She became depressed, because she got tired of being alone. Tired of having to get up and dressed. Tired of fixing her own food. Her clothes were gamey. She did not like to wash clothes. Welfare came and took her away after a few months. They could not believe how long it had been since she washed her hair. Depression will do that to you. Worst birthday ever, she though. She never saw either parent again. No explanation.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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Date: 5/11/2020 11:04:00 PM
Caren, Wonderfully intriguing and sinister. This fine poem would fit right in with Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone or Night Gallery. Your poem leaves the same images imprinted on the mind as those that dared to peek from the corners of a blanket long ago. -Richard
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Caren Krutsinger
Date: 5/12/2020 4:43:00 PM
Thank you so much Richard.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things