Trina liked empty cities the best and this is her best memory of New York.
She looked up, the Sun rose, partially eclipsed by a big black Moon.
Trina sat primly on the only bench on Queens Boulevard when she saw the shadow of a little boy skipping rope.
She quickly opened her journal and wrote, ‘In the land of tall thin shadows’
Then she pulled a piece of chalk from her skirts, dropped to her hands and knees, and drew a hopscotch court.
The shadow boy stopped skipping rope and came closer.
Trina stood. “Hello,” she curtsied. “I’m Trina, and you?”
“I am a child of the Universe,” replied the shadow boy.
“I see.” Trina searched the ground for a small stone to use as a marker. “You have a right to be here?”
The shadow boy shook his head, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
Trina laughed: “Did you lose your boy?”
“I think so. Have you seen him?”
“This is my world. No one comes here, not even shadows.”
“I don’t have a right to be here?”
“Strictly speaking, no.”
Trina found a stone and tossed it onto the court.
“What happens when you vanish?” she asked.
“I don’t exist.” The shadow boy replied.
Trina was appalled. “You stop thinking?”
“I think so.”
“But I always come back when the little boy goes out to play!”
Trina reached up and hid the Sun behind a big black moon.
Queens Boulevard went black and the shadow boy was gone.
Trina was sad.
She reached into her skirts and found a torch, then she opened her journal and wrote, ‘They sleep without dreams’
‘In the Land of Tall Thin Shadows’ (c) Rob Goldstein, March 2019
‘Shadow Boy’ (C) Rob Goldstein March 2019
Header Image from pixabay
I wrote this for the March Speculative Fiction prompt on Myths of the Mirror. You can join here: https://mythsofthemirror.com/2019/03/01/march-speculative-fiction-prompt/