Being My Shadow's Shadow

20260406

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

These characters were previously seen here.

Some days I think I’ve gotten used to being the shadow. Existing glued to him, my form shifting and reforming in mimicry as he stumbles through the life which should be mine. Some days I feel it might be better this way. Simply existing in this endless twilight, unable to touch the real world, free from all responsibility and possibility.
Other days I desperately long to scream.
How long has it been since we switched places? I can’t be sure. Everything’s distant. Blurry. Distorted. But I’m sure it’s long enough people should have noticed the difference. Even with him having told them all ‘my shadow said I needed to be more assertive and true to myself’.
What really hurts is that, while some people have pushed back like I always feared, far more have been supportive. Encouraging, even. Most of all our- my parents. There was a bit of a row about not wanting granny to call us ‘little sprout’ anymore (I knew she’d be upset, that’s why I never told her how annoying I found the habit) but even that was smoothed over quick.
Was it really this easy the whole time? Or was I just that weak?
Sometimes I wonder if we were somehow born the wrong way around. If I was meant to be the shadow all along. Just following.
If that was the case, though, surely I wouldn’t find this state stifling. And he wouldn’t grumble, near any time we’re alone, about how he doesn’t know how I can stand being ‘trapped in one shape, alone in the light’ like he is now.
At least neither of us are happy about this. If he wasn’t chafing at being solid it’d be terrifying. I’m relieved every time he mutters that midwinter can’t come fast enough.
Please let him be right, and we separate like every other shadow and caster. And, if he keeps his promise and doesn’t catch me, please let that put us back like we were before. I definitely won’t slide back into old habits, knowing what might happen if he gets desperate!
Besides, I… like this life he’s building for us. For me. For a while we had fewer friends. But the ones who left when he wouldn’t put up with jokes and teasing like I did have been replaced with people whose jokes and teasing don’t hurt. I’d never even talked to some of these kids. They avoided me. Well… probably more avoided the crowd I was in.
They’re nice. Fun. I really hope they like me as much as they like him.
About the only problem is that our- my…
Our parents are worried about how he’s struggling in school. It makes sense, reading is almost impossible when you see the world through shadows. I can barely make out the notes he takes, even when I’m directly on the page.
It took him hours of practice to be able to write at all, and his handwriting was still much rougher than mine when lessons restarted. While the difference has shrunk in the months since, I can still tell. I’m surprised the priest can’t. I suppose what I handed in was never good or bad enough to warrant much attention from him.
Ugh. I’ll have to make all that time back once we switch, won’t I? That’s going to be a struggle, even with listening as best I can during lessons.
Worth it to get back the rest of existing, though. To be able to touch and feel and smell again. For my seeing and hearing to be back to normal, no longer like the world is far away with a grimy window between us.
I can barely remember what the sun warming my skin feels like, only that I ache for it. And when I get back it’ll be midwinter! I hope spring comes quickly.
I hope his plan works, and I’m there to see it.
I hope everyone’s not disappointed to have me back, instead of him.
I can’t sigh because he isn’t. Can’t scream because I don’t have a voice. All I can do is wait, trapped in this twilit space, and hope.

Prompt was “Write from the perspective of someone who has been replaced.”