By Midknighter 18 Comments
I've only ever been afraid of one thing.
The only thing that has ever managed to reach me through the safety of shelter or self-defence, the only thing that has ever managed to sneak up on me time after time, the only thing that has ever managed to understand me.
You can't try to run from it, because you can't run from the sun, and they're close friends. You can't hide from it because the darkness is it's birthplace, it is it's sole refuge. It's essence.
I put the coffin nail to my lips and take a deep pull, leaving my throat open so that it's grey occupants can traverse down the inside of my neck and have a quick look at the lungs. Then it's closing time and they step out again, but as always, they've forgotten to take their dirty shoes off and have left small tread marks all over my respiratory system. I opt not to mention it to them, I don't want to be rude and I invited them in the first place.
It does the same. Copies my exact movements, my thoughts, my mannerisms. The cigarette slips away from it's red lips and trails off dirty smoke. I want to scowl but the facial muscles don't comply and instead I shake my head in distaste, but as expected, the silhouette mirrors the action with smug effortlessness and carries on as if nothing is wrong. I struggle not to meet it's black eyes, but give in and our soulless pupils stop across each other, silent hatred exuding from each of them.
It knows what I'm thinking. I can't even begin to fathom it's thoughts. Why torment me like this? Just leave me. Leave me be I have done you no wrong.
Fear. It wafts off of my frame like the smoke at the end of my cigarette and my dark, significant other inhales it with a sick glee I cannot comprehend. We are one in the same yet I am weaker. I am less patient. My temper is much, much worse. But, as is my condition, I cannot even perform these things, I cannot be myself, because it is me, and it does not want to do that.
Who am I?
Percival Knight, afraid of the Midknighter, my cage, my polar opposite?
Or the Midknighter, racked by unconquerable terror, petrified of himself, his black silhouette, his very shadow?