They kept him like this for almost a week. So many wounds covering his body, he couldn't see it anymore. They kept him there, lying on what you can't even call a mattress, wondering what They would do with his broken form, his broken soul. Him, was wondering how he was still alive... or maybe, he wasn't?
"Am I still alive?" He thought. "If only I had succeeded, if only I didn't let go... maybe I would know."
He had done something terrible that he would regret for the rest of his life, something that apologies couldn't solve. And They thanked him for what he did. They pushed the knife deeper in his sorrow and They played with it. They twisted it, removed it just to place it back more violently. After he did that thing, he had become something else, something... dangerous. They just made it more realistic.
He called them "They", because They weren't really human, They couldn't be. Someone with common sense couldn't do something horrible like that.
He didn't know who They were or where They were from, but from what he had seen, he didn't really want to know. He only knew what They did to him.
Now, he was "The Shadow", lurking in dark alleys in search of his deliverer. People couldn't see him, he was a ghost. It had been like this for almost a century, since They experimented on him. Time had passed and he had lost hope someone could actually, one day, see him. They said it would happen, sometime, but he couldn't know when, because he was just an experience.
As he was walking around the corner of an umpteenth street, he saw a girl. She was around 10 years old and she wore a simple yellow dress. She was there, sitting on a rock under a tall oak three, peeling off the petals of a flower. After all these years, the city had grown a dark shade of grey, but the girl was incredibly colourful. He walked toward her.
As he approached, the girl looked up and smiled. For a moment, he thought she had seen something behind him, it always happened, but as she stared at him, he gained hope.
What if he had actually find her, the person who could see him. The little girl gave him the shredded flower. Even if it was nothing, it meant the world to him. He held the flower in his hand and sat beside her. His story had finally come to an end...
YOU ARE READING
What if... (writing prompts)
RandomJ'écris des histoires, longues ou courtes, à partir de writing prompts que j'ai trouvées sur internet. Certains textes proviennent même d'examens de français et de concours littéraire auxquels j'ai participé.
