The Silent Shadow

The Hidden Scars

         "Sometimes the greatest wounds are the ones that cannot be seen from the outside."

As consciousness slowly returned to Edward, he grappled with a splitting headache, a relentless throbbing that pulsed through his skull. Lying facedown on the floor, he gathered his strength, pushing himself upright with considerable effort. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he winced as he tentatively touched the source of the pain—a tender spot on his head, where a faint trickle of blood betrayed an injury sustained during the tumultuous events of the night.

Surveying his surroundings with bleary eyes, Edward was met with a scene of chaos and disarray. The telltale signs of the harrowing ordeal lingered in the broken remnants of the bathroom door, evidence of the creature's ominous presence that had wreaked havoc within the confines of his home. Rainwater and mud streaked the floor, mingling with the disorderly mess of his disheveled clothing, a haunting reminder of the night's catastrophic events.

Fighting against the lingering haze of confusion, Edward struggled to piece together the fragmented memories that floated in and out of his consciousness. The aftermath of the night's calamity lay strewn around him, a stark testament to the inexplicable and terrifying ordeal he had endured. 

Edward grappled with the disorientation and unanswered questions swirling in his mind. The aftermath of the storm seemed eerily tranquil, yet clouds cloaked the daylight, casting a somber hue over the surroundings.

Drawing strength from the wall, Edward navigated toward the living room, his eyes catching sight of the clock's hands inching toward eleven. How long had he been unconscious? What transpired in the wake of his ordeal with the creature remained a haunting mystery. The uncertainty gnawed at him, urging him to seek help from the town.

Realizing his current state was unfit for seeking aid, he ventured into the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror presented a disheveled version of himself—his brown hair in disarray, and the wound on his forehead, while no longer bleeding, displayed a menacing bruise. Determined to ready himself for the outside world, he took a cleansing shower, donned clean and robust clothing, and tended to the wound as best he could, though his efforts were amateurish at best.

The pangs of hunger clawed at his stomach, leaving him feeling weak and nauseous. The urgent need for sustenance became evident, compelling him to address his physical needs before venturing out into the uncertain expanse of the town.

In the solace of the kitchen, Edward resorted to the leftover pizza, the simplest meal at hand. It wasn't a feast by any means, but it would suffice to quell the relentless hunger gnawing at his insides. Without much ado, he consumed five slices of the pizza with ravenous fervor, washing it down with a hastily brewed cup of tea. Eating had never been a priority for him, and his current circumstances were no exception.

Satiated, albeit momentarily, Edward ventured outside, embarking on the short trek to his car. Assessing the vehicle's condition, he found it relatively unscathed from the havoc of the previous night—a small relief amid the chaos that had ensued. Settling into the driver's seat, he noticed his phone lying on the car floor. Hoping for some semblance of normalcy, he attempted to power it on repeatedly, but to no avail—it remained stubbornly unresponsive.

"Whatever," he muttered under his breath, a resigned acceptance of the situation. Frustration tinged his voice, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Turning the ignition, he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, a habitual attempt to conceal the bruised wound on his forehead. It was a familiar pattern—a subconscious effort to mask his vulnerabilities, as if by hiding the physical scars, he could erase the emotional ones as well.