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Scars of a Shadow

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Hello. You do not know me, so I will not give you my name. You can know me simply as a Shadow. My story begins when I was seven years old. My parents were out at work and a friend was babysitting. Everything went normally and I was put to bed, falling asleep quickly. I had a horrible nightmare full of pain, blood, and death. I awoke to my parent's screams. I remember that there was something wet and sticky all over me, though I didn't know what it was. When I stepped into the living room, I froze at the scene before me.

The babysitter, at first, seemed to simply be asleep on the couch. Then, I noticed the blanket covering her had a spreading, darkening stain, and there was something horribly wrong with the way her body lay, the angles all off somehow. My parents screamed again when their eyes found me, my mother rushing almost immediately to me, asking if I was alright. Soon, I realized my clothes were drenched in bright, crimson blood. I was absolutely fine, without a scratch. This was the first incident.

The second happened some weeks later, when I was at a friend's house for a sleepover. There were several girls and when we woke up the next morning, we found one girl in the bathroom, hung.

After that, there were numerous incidents, all happening within the span of two years. Any friends I had were dead, as well as my mother. I became obsessed, researching the meanings of the nightmares I had been having, always on the night of an incident. Only when my father was killed did I truly give up. I was utterly numb, emotions and thoughts only occasionally crossing my mind. I lived in a state of almost total isolation and things were alright for several years. Until that night....

I went to sleep, the nightmares worse than usual.

I somehow forced myself to wake up, right in the middle of my dream, blinking sleepily in the dim light of what I thought was my room. I held something wet and sticky in my hands, and when I realized I was standing up I stepped back. My foot crunched through dead leaves and my eyes finally adjusted to the gloom. I was standing in the middle of some forest, all of the trees dead. Something dripped onto my bare feet and I instinctively looked down. I then screamed and screamed and screamed.

In my hands was a little girl's head. Her eyes were gouged out, blood streaking down her face like scarlet tears, and the girl's grotesque, mutilated body lay at my feet. A young boy lay several meters away, his body similarly gutted. My clothes, a black hoodie and dark jeans were drenched in blood, as was my long black hair. My sanity drained away completely at that point and I began laughing hysterically, now realizing that every horrible thing that happened to me over the years had been me. I was the monster, I was the one who had murdered everyone I loved. And the worst part? I. DIDN'T. CARE.

I am now traveling from town to town, waking up every morning surrounded by the dead I have killed during the night. I decided to publish this story in recognition of those I have murdered, and their families. I hope you understand I had no choice and that I live my life as a Shadow and so that the world may know that I am not the only one, for we Shadows live around you, in your neighborhoods and your schools, your works and houses. This is not a threat, but a warning. So listen to my words and I wish you luck.

Yours, Simply A Shadow

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