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Lilian Mary

Published on Dec 21, 2024

Lilian Mary

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The Game of Shadows The young boy was there, where the wall broke the world. A thin border, too thin, like the edge of a wound that does not close. The sun filtered through at times, drawing geometries that seemed like promises of something else, but they were only illusions: fragments of light that fell weightlessly. He knew he belonged to that place - not to a physical place, but to a space within time, where the past and the present were confused in an opaque reverberation. Beyond the wall, there was the young girl. She was not like him. She was lighter, like a breath drawn in the void. She did not walk, she seemed to slide. She did not speak, she seemed to sing a silence that hurt. And yet she played. Always. A game that was not a game, but a cruel rite. She imitated what she saw in the real world, trying to belong, to be. She took shapes that did not belong to her, bending to the desires of others, to their fears. But each time it broke a little more. The Young boy watched her. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to touch her, to tell her something, but the words remained suspended inside him, like dry branches that never break. He knew, however, that one day he would have to choose. That day came, and it wasn’t a day like the others. The sun had stopped above the wall, and everything seemed still, as if waiting for a blow that never came. The young girl was falling – not with her body, but with her soul. The Young boy felt a weight crushing his chest, as if the whole world had collapsed inside him. Without thinking, without understanding, he did what he had to do. He went through the wall – or perhaps the wall went through him – and gave her what he had: his form, his substance, his life. The young girl finally rose up. She was no longer a shadow. She was alive, real, strong. He, instead, disappeared. But time, that old deceiver, wouldn’t let him go. He put it back together, piece by piece, but not like before. It was something different now, an echo of the Young boy he had been. And she, the young girl, had become something extraordinary. People called her a champion, they said she had crossed the impossible, that she was pure, that she belonged to the world of the few who do not fade away. Many had tried, but they had been devoured by doubt. Because there was always a voice, hissing and cruel, that insinuated the wrong questions: Are you ready? Are you worthy?. And just hearing those words was enough to destroy you. It was a test, they said, but it was more than that: it was a game without rules, where the prize was silence and the punishment, oblivion. Now they were there, together, but the wall had changed. It no longer divided them, but had transformed into a shadow that followed them everywhere. And the sun? The sun still shone, but it was different: further away, colder. And maybe, thought the the Young boy – or what was left of him – it was right., hazy lights, misty landscape, foggy atmosphere, subdued lighting, blurred figures, dark background, grung3, light yagami, l lawliet, misa amane, near nate river, ryuk, saccstry art style, watercolor, fine art, generic red ai, red art

Lilian Mary

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