Subtle Shift of Shadow

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

The last time I saw a real face was about a month ago. Before that, it was twenty-two years ago when I was six months old—too young to remember anything. At six months, they seal your eyes with a veil, and virtual perfection becomes your reality. We lived in a curated world, allocated experiences, attributes, and education by the Custodian Congress. Our existence was blissful, devoid of crime, pain, and anxiety—a film set of beautiful Stepford people against lush landscapes.

The town patrols served as our guardians, their voices floating from strategically placed speakers lining the paths:

Please stick to the designated areas

and

Today is Sunday; remember to show up for your regular drops

They convinced everyone.

This veil is necessary for your babies.

The custodian doctors insisted it enhanced vision and protected against harsh UV light. Parents believed the propaganda, dutifully subjecting children to maintenance eye drops—a weekly ritual at church drop stations, where hundreds marched to the altars of compliance.

If you forget to go, we’ll come to remind you,

the patrols promised, warning of the devastating effects of missing your dose—blindness, disease, or worse.

I lingered once at our parish’s boundary, curiosity compelling me to peer over a fence marked by a neon sign:

NO ENTRY

We were told it was the edge of our world, yet in the distance loomed a bleak stone enclosure, a ghostly image of the ‘Insighter’ labs.

I’d heard about how inside, resided the actual truth about our existence and the inmates who perceived it. The insighters lived in dismal cells, subject to the whims of scientists who placed electrodes on their heads and injected colored liquids into their eyes and skin. Those new to the facility cried out in pain; those who had been there longer wept silently, spirits broken.

I recoiled at the thought that these insighters paid the price for knowing and feeling what others did not. They were immune to the mind-altering drops that affected our senses. Rumors of these places floated in the shadows, but only a few—including me—believed in them, living under a cloud of unrest about their existence. I heard the pain seeping from within those walls, cries of torture echoing in my mind like a warning. I knew then that no one else could hear or sense this anguish. I had insight, but I would never speak of it.

Today, the threat of discovery lingers as I light fires during the day, flinching at each crackle that punctuates the stillness. All I see is grey—dusty remnants of a once vibrant world, like the fenced-off meadows we admired through our veils. The contradictions continue, hiding while yearning for connection; eternal loneliness mingled with the comfort of solitude. Isolation is my only companion, but if it grew hungry, I feared it would devour me. How do I continue to exist in this non-existence? Does a tree falling in a forest make a sound? Do you still exist somewhere, my love? Do I?

Where are you, Nils?

When we met at a drop station as children, we shared ice cream—your strawberry against my chocolate. The sky beamed blue above our curated lives, our virtual world perfect until we changed it forever.

We fell in love as planned. Everyone falls in love; that is how it works. But our love transcended the mind-altering parameters of the eye drops. In peculiar shifts of shadow, your hair took on a golden hue, a single freckle resting high on your left cheek. Could I trust these perceptions? What had you noticed about me? I knew there was something—the quick dart of your eyes, the long penetrating stare when you thought I wasn’t watching.

As our friendship deepened, I felt your presence—skin prickles, the quickening of my heartbeat, and the heat radiating from my cheeks when you were near.

After you, Annie, you said, gesturing toward the drop station door. Your fingers brushed my arm, and I flinched from the shock of pleasure it brought.

Where are you now?

We wanted to know more. Did we do wrong to ignore the summons of our indoctrinated habit? To miss the drop gathering? To walk hand in hand, pretending we were on our way to a drop station?

How did we reach the boundary unseen? How did you know to pull the seal from my eyes? It hurt. I did the same for you, and in that moment, we came home while exposing ourselves to the greatest hell. Our eyes absorbed each other’s faces, and as reality enveloped us, we held on to what felt real—us.

Surrounded by ruin, I took in the litter—the fridge—its door swinging open, old cars, and discarded diapers. Grey concrete served as a canvas for this sorry landscape. The light failed to whitewash humanity’s indiscretions, but it also failed to blind us. They could not track us without our veils, but it would only be a matter of time.

Now we can see, we have to hide and escape. Go north, and I will find you,

you said. Your eyes spoke louder than your lips, carrying more pain than I could stomach. I kissed you, letting my heart fly free, away from the flesh and bones they could catch.

Where are you?

I lay low, flitting from ruin to ruin, hiding in shadows and crawling through debris. I never stopped running; did you? I knew their search would lose momentum far from our community, but it would never truly end.

Now I gather unidentifiable plants for food, lighting small fires from twigs. My home is a cave somewhere north. The compass you pressed into my hand guided me until it broke, spinning wildly. I wait, tears falling onto its clueless face, then thrust it to the ground where it breaks apart on impact. Regretting my anger, I stooped to retrieve it and noticed a message etched in the metal:

Watch for the shifts of shadow, Nils x.

The flames flicker, and I wonder why heat rises in my cheeks. I feel a familiar prickle grazing my skin and I look around. Out loud my words cry out like they’ve found the thirteenth hour,

Nils, are you there?

* * * * *

I rewrote this older story for Liam’s unofficial 1984 challenge. I only learnt of if it after reading Mackenzie’s excellent story entry (thank you 😉). Apologies if it just slightly crept over the 800 words.

Thank you for spending a moment with my words. If you like the way I play with letters from the alphabet, I would be honoured to have you as my guest, on my profile, where you can read whatever takes your fancy. Here’s my latest, written for the stream of consciousness challenge: