It’s morning. The newest one. But as I get up I feel that empty hole, I look around the room for the object to put it back, before I realize what the object is. The shadow sits in the chair, like the previous night, a shudder running down my spine as I wonder whether its touch was a dream or not, so cold, so draining. 

“No one is coming to save you.” He whispered a greeting. It was a common phrase to escape its eyes. I walked out of the room and into the kitchen to eat breakfast. It was a weekend again. I searched for a fork and sat down at my work table, brushing aside a few pieces of paper and gingerly placing my laptop on the floor before setting the plate down. A blackened heart still beating sat on the plate, vile black blood oozed slowly out of it. It was appetizing to an unfathomable degree. Devouring it, my teeth sinking into it with a wet squelch, first the left ventricle lost a large chunk from it. Next came the other, the aorta was munched, the atriums both slid down my throat. I couldn’t stop myself. I felt it sicken my stomach and poison my blood, but it was so lovely. After some time the plate only held only some bloody remnants, small arteries trailing off to nowhere. The corners of my mouth and hands were stained maroon with the viscous blood. I grabbed a piece of paper after I washed the plate of its lifeblood, setting the plate aside to be put away later. I strode back to my table, the stacks of papers piling up haphazardly by the thousands, some post-its protruding from the sides to label sections of the transcript towers. Another piece of paper found its way to my hands and I conjured a pencil from the other end of the table. The table was growing increasingly cramped. Granted it was square with 2.5 foot side lengths that shouldn’t have been able to accommodate this much paper, but it would suffice until I could make it better. I decided today that I would like to draw it. The shadow was standing there in the corner silently, so it would be easy to draw using itself as a reference. I traced its outline, a vaguely human one with a few divergences to represent its instability, then made the decision not to dress it. After much pencil work, it was finished. I looked at its face, the bloody fingerprints stamped into the paper from turning it, surrounding it, accentuating its features, then stood up, my chair sliding away behind me on its squeaky wheels. This was a familiar face, one that looking at made my insides burn. I rushed to the bathroom. I looked at the circular mirror on the wall. Inside it looked like the face I drew. A wave of sickness washed through me and I gagged in the air. It was me. I collapsed to the floor and tears left me like blood leaves a corpse. I could only lay there and let the wound gush out.

Darker still the chasm seems to grow, widening perhaps, and that smiling face on the other side becomes more maniacal. The shadow flailed around, causing me distress as its face seemed to contort into one of pain, regardless of the fact that it didn’t have a face. But it didn’t feel pain, it was my face, it was trying to show my pain, pain pain. Its arms moved wildly about, threatening to knock me in, legs twisting at unnatural angles in a horrifying display of motion. I tried not to look at it, and no one seemed to see it, but it was impossible to tear my eyes away from. Hands twitching, arms spinning, legs breaking over and over again. 

“I have always diluted myself.” It spoke in its horrible voice, “You will have no hope. This is your end. Watch as everyone leaves. They never loved you. No one loves you.” I couldn’t take it anymore, it was too horrible. I stood up and took a step onto the void, my leg took my weight and plummeted me into the chasm, and the feeling of falling took me as the darkness surrounded me. I closed my eyes and allowed the falling to continue. I hit the bottom softly, like I hadn’t been falling at all. My eyes opened, I was still sitting on the edge, the chasm had grown wider, and escaping into it was no longer an option. The Facade on the other side stared at me with its harrowing smile. It was horrible, it was wrong, but it was necessary. 

The next day a large gash appeared on my arm. I didn’t know how it got there, but it was thin and red, no longer oozing blood, but still almost tracing the length of my forearm from elbow to wrist. I rotated my right arm, and a sting shot through the gash like a cry for help. The burning in my arm made me wince and hold it still, causing a struggle to get ready. It was winter now, and luckily I had an easy excuse to wear long sleeves. After donning clothes and allowing the plates in my cabinets to rest a little longer, I made my way out into the world. It had been about 2 weeks since the drawing of the shadow, and I hadn’t touched my table much after. All I did was sleep, all I could do was work on school and sleep. The bitter cold of the air was a deep contrast to the first person I saw. Their entire head was obscured by an inferno too bright to look at, but they kept walking without seeming to mind. No heat came from it nor light, but the inferno was blindingly bright to my eyes, and I couldn’t afford to let my vision get worse. The next person I saw was the same, walking while clutching their purple purse and wearing a long, furry coat that would undoubtedly keep them warm, but they had a fire burning on their head again. Every other person, all day. After my last class of the day my professor came up to me while I was putting things away and with his hands in his pockets and asked softly with the mouth shrouded with fire,

“Are you ok?” It was nothing like his lecture voice, softer, kinder, but I turned away and said,

“I’m fine.” The way the fire dampened on his face told me that he believed it.

I want to go over there. I want to usurp his place and get his smile. But I need to make it over there first. The speaker in my hand buzzed, and the angel’s messenger declared his preclude once more. I sighed, flinging it into the chasm until I found it once again. It is keeping me from him. I walk over to the monochrome wall and lean against it, listening to the whispers. I looked at the headstone, all prettied up and messy at the same time. It has ruined me I think to myself. I should just stop. It is draining me, it is the reason I feel this sickening sensation daily. I walk over to it and slam my hands into it, over and over again. But though it becomes dented, it stands strong. Except stone doesn’t dent. I peer at the epitaph inscribed upon it for the first time, I had not yet done so. It said “Here lies Cyrus Wroth.” below that, “followed his passion and died happily.” I’m a fool for inscribing that upon it. It is lies, lies, lies. I pick up the knife that sits on it and force myself back over to the chasm. Coiling like a snake I spring forward. Up, up I go, impossibly high for a simple jump, and land on the other side. The mimic looks at me with the same smile and lunges at me, but I sidestep it and grab it by the scruff of its neck. It squeaks in pain. Not screaming, the facade doesn’t scream, nor cry. I turn it around and look at it, the face still smiles, but the eyes do not. I plunge the knife into its chest, a spurt of blood gushing out once I remove it. The color drains from its face, the sadness in its eyes leaving, but the smile still remains. I laid it down gently. Tucking its hands over its chest on top of where its heart should be before struggling to force the smile off its face. It can rest now. As I start away I hear a sizzling and turn around to see my face melt. Skin peels and flakes off of the skull, the muscle tissue already half decayed. I wanted to cry, the Facade may as well have been a reanimated corpse. Now the air burns in my throat and I start to drown on land, choking in this environment. It looks the same as the other side of the chasm, but I can no longer breathe. I swim over the chasm to the other side, a much easier feat than jumping across and look at the corpse of the facade. Perhaps it is now happier than it was before, faceless and dead, the rest is crumbling now, an accelerated form of rot clings to the clothes that can hardly sit comfortably on the caved in flesh that no doubt lay beneath. Now all I can do is draw inward, away from the chasm, away from the headstone, away from everything. Except the shadow. He’ll find ways to find me like he always does.

He’s dead now, so I’m crumbling like his corpse had, but you could not see such fissures on the surface, barely concealed by the remnants of the facade before everything caves inward. I still don’t know what day it is, but the outside is still colder than the inside. They’re still burning, some brighter than others, but still no one seems to mind except me. The people on TV don’t burn, but I still don’t look at them, and they don’t look at me. I’m trying to listen to music, even though most of the time I can’t hear the words very well, only the melody and the beat. They help drown out the Shadow like I started drowning on the other side of the chasm. I’ve started going over there more, to see what’s there, but I can’t seem to find anything yet. Everytime I bring with me the angel’s speaker, even if he isn’t here right now, his words guide me. The speaker buzzed once more in my hand today, startling me as I heard the voice crackle,

“Thine Angel Arrives Nigh.” Before the vibrating stops. Until now, every day has simply been one thousand meaningless decisions, all in the name of a desaturated existence, one filled with tedium and horrors, my face the only gaunt one as every other is burning. They burn bright like stars, and I lie alone in the darkness. Now I shall await you, Angel, until we meet like I have always dreamed we would again.

I didn’t know that my apartment building had a basement, so I went there one day. It wasn’t that exciting. A large boiler and fuse box in a dark cell made of dirty cement walls, and there was a window. I sat down on the dirty floor and watched the people there. They didn’t see me, and I was glad for that. I watched them just walking down the street, and they didn’t burn. I could see their faces, there was nothing to fear. I couldn’t leave, captivated by the simple curves and edges of peoples faces. The lips prettied up for an event unbeknownst to me. Eyes with many different colors. Colorless irises, but also blue, brown, green, hazel. The pupils had little black dots in one man’s beady eyes that looked around frantically for something. I had no obligations that day, only listening to the air conditioning hum, support beams and thick support poles around me. My legs were drawn to my chest, staring at the people like in my childhood when I saw stars fill the night sky for the first time. On that hill my dad took me there, the grass tickled my arms but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the lights. I have never been enthralled by such a thing like that sky. In my childhood I had a dream that I could fly up to those stars and be a part of the sky, a glittering display of excellence. The dream recurred tonight. Now I sit in the basement and watch them, and I cannot be a part of that cloudless sky. I eventually receded back to my apartment. Walking back to my table I bring another sheet of paper towards me, making the rectangle that is the window, spending an hour simply writing about my experience. But eventually the moment runs dry. He was waiting for me. I stare at the blank sheet of paper. It should be simple, so simple, but I can’t do anything other than stare at this rectangle like it will turn into a new window to look through. I grip the edges of the table and slam my forehead into the paper, over and over again. I don’t stop after the pain begins to worsen and the paper doesn’t turn into a window. Only after my head throbs worse than every other pain do I stop and turn to look at him. He wastes no time to say,

“You have failed. How will you ever be loved, incapable one? You s-still hide. You are d-decaying as you breathe. You’re wasting your life. You are still in the b-basement. D-deep down, I will watch you in your pit till your breath s-stains the w-world no more.” He stuttered on a few words, he was becoming more unstable, more erratic, different. I should have taken a different course than the one I did. I am a failure. 

The Angel descended on Saturday. I wasn’t exactly sure when he was going to arrive, as I was assured it would be a surprise. I was sitting at my headstone when out of the darkness a bright light shone, splitting the gray and reinforced darkness. There was only light there. He walked forward. He was composed of pure light, the parallel to the Shadow in being. He had six pristine, feathery wings on either side of him. No legs, but long arms with hands resting at his side. His head was the shape of a dragon fruit, the ridges all glowing white. A glowing golden ring hovered just above his head, but it was not smooth. Rather it had a symmetrical rhythm of sharp edges, but just far enough away not to pierce anyone. He still drew closer, his smile was the only thing on his face, but it was genuine, unlike the smile of the Facade. He had no eyes to fear, nothing else but the mouth. 

“I apologize for my delay” The angel said in a deep, soothing voice. It was not slithery like the shadow, it was one of tenderness, understanding. “I know you have needed me yet I have delivered naught.” I nodded,

“It’s ok.” I said, “It only matters that you are here now.” I looked behind the Angel and could see the Shadow flailing again, quickly, erratically, whipping its arms around in an even more grotesque way than the first, but this time I could tell that it was doing so as a last attempt to make the Angel flee. It really was in pain this time.

“I see you looking at it.” The angel said, coming closer. “The shadow is an aberration.” It said slowly, articulating each syllable to make sure I understood. Standing next to me and looking at it as a breeze jostled its feathery cloak he continued. “Yet you have shredded a hole within yourself that only it may fill.” I looked down in shame, of course I did this, I let it do this to me. “This world has allowed many a misfortune to plague you. Yet you have survived it all, although you have not left unscathed.” 

“Why can’t I just get rid of it?” I asked the Angel desperately.

“It is not that simple, my friend. The Shadow is part of you. You may diminish its power, but it is unlikely it will ever fully disappear.” The words left a stabbing pain in my throat, one that prevented me from speech, even though the words were still wonderful to hear. The wings of the Angel brushed my face in an attempt to clear the pain. It only helped a little.

“What can I do?” I said quietly, my voice hoarse. The Angel reached into its cloak and withdrew a white mask. He extended his arm outward and I could see the gold veined ivory closely. It was made of the same light as the Angel. The mask was in the expression of a smile, contoured to my face exactly, but it was not a fake smile nor one of true happiness. But it was one that would do well enough.

“Wear it with bravery. It shall stop the burning. Or… At the very least lessen its caliber by a considerable degree.” I took it and held it in my hands gingerly, like it was an object so frail that it could be broken simply by looking at it too intensely. 

“I have wanted to know you in this way for so long.” I said looking at the Angel’s face.

“I as well. I promise our next meeting will not be far off.” With that the Angel drifted away slowly, receding back into the darkness and just before the light of its body disappeared, I heard it say, “Goodbye, Cyrus.” Then it was gone. The shadow stopped moving, mid flail, perfectly still, on one leg, arms still over its head ready to be slammed down on nothing, just staying there. I trace my finger over the veins on the mask, turning it over. I see in golden lettering this small message: “I’m still out there. Even when you think you’ll forever lose me. I’ll be out there until my body decays.” There was no signature, but I could tell it was written by the Angel. I placed the mask on my face, taking off my glasses so that they don’t press uncomfortably against my face. It was warm. I walked around for a moment and it didn’t feel exactly right. I walked over to the chasm, by now the Shadow had begun moving again. I jumped over the chasm, landing softly on the other side. I turned around. The chasm was still wide, but could it be that it was slightly narrower? If it was, it is by a small margin. I walk around on the emptiness on the other side, the smiling mask on my face but the face beneath not smiling. I was waiting to start drowning, but nothing happened. I sat down on the other side and just sat there. The empty side doesn’t contain anything to my knowledge. Watching the Shadow desperately reach for me before giving up and retreating back to my headstone, desecrating it while I just watched. I would have to go back, but for now there was peace under the mask. I didn’t feel great over here, simply empty, like I was inhabiting a hollow shell. This wasn’t great, but it allowed me to escape the Shadow

I held the mask in my hands, and it stayed with me all the time. While sitting in the basement I didn’t wear it, but when outside in the rapidly changing weather, I wore it, letting the semblance of a smile be what everybody saw, and occasionally reality. At home the mask comes off, and while the tears may flow and the shadow may torment me, I await the call of the Angel once more. I chucked the mask into the chasm and looked up, waiting for it to fall back down into my hands. I shivered. I could tell he was behind me, coming up with the next horrid thing to say. I can’t tell if things are worse now that the Angel gave me the mask or if things are better. While here the Angel seemed to keep the Shadow at bay but he’s gone. Even with the assurance of the mask I can’t tell when the Angel will be back. I walked away from the chasm and went outside. The mask in my pocket, I go to my car and even though it’s the middle of the night I can still leave the Shadow until he catches up to me. The highway is a long sad strip near the city, empty and dark right now. I stop when I get on it and roll all the windows down. I put on a song, the National’s “Tropic Morning News” and drove. I switch the headlights off. I start slow, the music is deafening but it won’t stop me. No one is here. I go faster, soon the pedal can go no further and I am racing down the road faster than ever before, faster than the Shadow can reach me. Let the darkness come, I don’t care anymore. Eventually I stopped, and I felt the guilt flood back, realizing my stupid action. So many stupid actions.

Spring found its way upon the world. I’m tracing my hand over the dent in the table where I slammed my head into it a few weeks ago. I touch the spot where my forehead was hit and the soft sting shoots through it, telling me that it hasn’t fully healed yet. I look at him. The shadow just stands there, it hasn’t been more than 3 minutes since it regurgitated another truth.

“Are you ok?” I asked, putting on the mask. The Shadow shifted uncomfortably before stiffening. It’s voice came back,

“I’m fine.” It said, not sounding sure for once. I stood up. Pointing a finger at it I said,

“Are you sure?” I don’t know why I said these things, but it was no doubt the only thing I could. It twitched,

“No.” I walked over to it. My arms came out and I wrapped them around it in an embrace. Almost immediately the Shadow began struggling and thrashing in my grasp, but I had pinioned its arms to its sides, and all it could do was stay here. It screeched and rapidly spouted statements, wailing like it was in pure agony.  It continued, I cried tears into its body, allowing it to absorb it all, not letting go. It began to fight me even harder, punching me and kicking with its legs as it fought to be free, but each blow bounced off effortlessly, as if it couldn’t do anything. The screams brought pain, more than the blows did, but I couldn’t let go, doing so would mean failure. It began to slow down, dissolving into pungent liquid that seeped into the floors and the residual odor stayed for a few days after. That didn’t kill it. It showed up after the odor went away, and it came back just as strongly as before. It may seem like nothing happened, but it was progress. Good progress.

I brought a sledgehammer to the monochrome wall looming high above me. While I had never held the hammer before I was willing to hold the unwieldy thing to do this. The mask beat like a heart on my face, warming me with its presence. I gripped the hammer and rammed the head of it into the wall like a battering ram, not exactly the intended use, but it shook the wall nevertheless. Bricks rained down around me, seeming to come from the top rather than anywhere else, and while there was still a stockpile of fresh bricks and mortar to be applied by the shadow later, I would tear down as much of this as I could. The wall hissed screams of denial for my success, proclaiming its destruction impossible. But I never planned its destruction, only its curtailing. Hours I slammed the hammer into the wall, not denting a single brick near the foundation, but shaking enough bricks off the top to create triple the amount on the ground as in the pile ready to be applied. The bricks shattered on the ground with every slam, never to be used again. I will take down the wall eventually, but it might be purposeless, as the shadow will simply build it again and the only thing taken away will be my energy. It only needs to be climbable, and it probably has such a sturdy foundation that no such thing can be removed. I panted and collapsed onto the ground, hours wasted. Hours wasted fruitlessly.

I was sketching a picture of the mask, sat upon the table when I heard a knock at the door. I dragged my pencil across the piece of paper accidentally out of sheer surprise. I walked over to the door, readying my mask. I opened the door and there he was. Chase was standing there. The shy smile on his face, hands stuffed in pockets. I’ve seen him stand sheepishly that way many times before. He shifted slightly and said quietly,

“Surprise!” It was the kind of way someone says surprise when they don’t want to be too loud, like yelling in a whisper. I could tell my face was something outrageous, because he suddenly looked worried. “Sorry, I should have told you I was-” But he couldn’t stop before I hugged him tightly. He was a head taller than me so he just stood there and started inside, taking me along with him. “Welp, I told you I’d be back soon.” He said, but I wasn’t listening, I was just glad he was here. After a few minutes he was leaning against the wall and I was sitting down in the chair near my table, and we were just talking. “You’re sure you’re ok? You’ve lost weight like Christian Bale getting ready for a new movie.” I knew he was right.

“Christian Bale is retired from doing that.” I said, trying to change the conversation to something that didn’t remind me of my situation, even though there hardly ever was a time when I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m not doing super great right now.” I admitted, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I looked out the window at the sky.

“That’s good to hear.” He said, I looked at him incredulously. “T-that you’re telling the truth for once! Do you think I would ever want you to suffer?” He said, throwing his hands up. “Remember you can always talk to me when I have time.” Chase put his hands back in his pockets.

“You know I’m not great at talking to people, including you sometimes.” I said vehemently

“Yeah, but you are great at doing this stuff.” He said pointing a hand at the table filled with paper, “It’s amazing!”

“This isn’t amazing, It’s messy and hasn’t gone anywhere.” I said, fingering a pencil in my hands. 

“Well how can I help make it amazing? I’m here to do anything right now, the weekend is supposed to help you, my problems can wait for another day.” 

“I’m not sure.” I looked out the window again and saw the shadow standing on the street, in the spring sunlight. His eyes still bore into me, but I knew that there was fear in them, like the fear you would still find in mine out there. I could tell it was scared because he was watching as his downfall was manufactured. Its fear was wonderful to see.