The Individual Who Sold His Shadow

Nobody read Elias' poetry. His verses were written in battered notebooks that were piled in a corner of his one-room apartment. In the winter, the ink was smudged by rain that seeped through the ceiling. He stood on the winding streets of London at night, reciting to strangers who hardly ever stopped. His words were lost in the cacophony of the city, overpowered by the tavern laughter and the clatter of buses. He was so impoverished that he frequently felt hunger pressing against his ribs like a fist. The comforts of money, fame, and public acclaim were as far away as the stars he stared at through his broken window.

Elias met the stranger on one of those nights.

The man was dressed in a coat lined with crimson silk and made of fabric as black as coal, too fine for the wet alleys he entered. A strange light, like glass catching fire, glowed in his eyes. With leather-gloved hands, he observed Elias clapping slowly as he finished a verse.

The stranger remarked, "You have talent."

Every syllable he spoke seemed to weigh heavily on Elias's chest. However, without luck, talent is like a flame without oxygen. Elias, do you want air?Elias blinked. "And who are you to make that offer?" With ivory-sharp teeth, the man grinned. Assume that I am a collector. I make trades that people are afraid to make. I'll grant you fame, fortune, and a crowd that will chant your name. I ask that you not use anything in exchange. You don't need anything. "And what is that?" Elias half-laughed as he asked.

"Your shadow."

Elias initially believed it to be a joke. What use could his shadow serve? But there was seriousness in the man's eyes. Elias said slowly, "You don't understand. The absence of light is all that a shadow is." "Yet it is evidence that you are real," the stranger said, leaning in closer. "Evidence that you are a part of this world. Give it to me, and you'll live the life you've always wanted." Elias's stomach racked with hunger. Doubt was outweighed by the thought of his poems being read all over the world and receiving praise. “Take it,” he whispered, nodding shakily.

The stranger held out a gloved hand. Elias gave it a shake. And then, as if something vital had been yanked from his flesh, he experienced a sudden, intense pull. He cast his gaze downward. There was nothing on the ground below him. From his feet, no shadow extended. The outsider bowed. "Poet, enjoy your new life." Then he disappeared into the fog.

By morning, everything was different.

A publisher showed up and offered to publish Elias's poetry. With awe in their eyes, audiences flocked to theatres to hear him recite. His words were translated into languages he had never spoken and spread across oceans. Newspapers were filled with his name, coins were in his pockets, and bread and wine were in his belly. He lived in a house with a leak-proof roof, dined with lords and ladies, and wore silk coats. Elias felt alive for the first time. But there was a subtle uneasiness with every new dawn.

People took notice. Not initially, when the theatres were dimly lit and the candles were too softly flickering to show it. However, rumours circulated on the streets under the midday sun. Kids pointed. Women let out a gasp. Men moved aside.

They whispered, "He casts no shadow."

A few of them betrayed themselves. Others spat, muttering about unnatural things and curses. Dogs snarled and stayed away from him. His servants left his home without warning. Elias initially dismissed it with a laugh. Now that the world loved his words, what good was a shadow? But the uneasiness increased. The number of invitations decreased. As he spoke, crowds moved uneasily in their seats. No one cheered as they used to. Their gazes flitted to the floor, where nothing extended behind him, and they hurried away. Merchants rejected his coin in marketplaces. Men refused to be with him in taverns. The world that had raised him now flinched.

A candle flickered beside Elias as he stood in front of a mirror one evening. His thin, pale, and too-tired-for-fame eyes gazed back at him. The floor behind him was empty, but the candle's flame was burning. Empty. As though he were an incomplete half-man. His dreams were troubled that night. As he walked alone through the dark streets, he saw his shadow reciting his verses to strangers who stopped, listened, and shed tears. While he, the poet, stood silently, invisible, his shadow led the life he had always desired.

Elias cried as he awoke. If the world no longer thought he belonged among them, what good were the money, the cheers, and the name in everyone's mouth?

He looked around for the stranger. Months passed. Even though no one was aware of him, Elias sensed his presence in the glint of dark windows and in the alley corners. He eventually discovered him waiting at the Thames's edge one misty evening.

The man remained the same, his coat shining, his smile piercing. "Ah," he murmured, "the poet who longed for air." Elias's voice faltered. "Return your presents. Give me my shadow." The stranger cocked his head. "Do you not cherish your notoriety? Your wealth? Once ignoring you, the world now bows down to you." Elias muttered, "They bow, but they don't see me. I'm afraid of them. I move like a ghost in the sun. Being human and impoverished is preferable to being wealthy and meaningless." The stranger grinned more broadly. "There is a cost. You can't have both." Elias said, his eyes burning, "Then take it all. The money, the literature, the cheers. Return the evidence that I am a part of this planet."

The stranger looked at him for a long time. Then he gestured something out of his hand. Below Elias, the ground grew gloomy. Once again, his shadow was thin but real as it stretched at his feet. The stranger retreated into the fog. "Poet, exercise caution. Shadows weigh more than they appear." Elias woke up the following morning in his old flat, his stomach empty and the roof leaking. His name had been forgotten, and his books were gone. All that was left was the musty stench of poverty. However, he noticed it when he entered the sunlight—his shadow, long and familiar across the cobblestones.

He grinned. And he felt whole for the first time.