New beginnings

 

The life of a shadow is what I have learned to be, immortal. But, like many other good things, immortality comes at a price. We do not have voices, but we can hear everything. We do not have faces, but our sight is fantastic. Worst of all, we cannot move on our own, but those who we belong to move us. At one point, we find out that there are male and female beings and they all have names and voices. With this knowledge, some shadows, like me, have given ourselves genders and names. For example, I have determined myself to be female, with the name of Joslyn. Some of the more experienced shadows, once they have given themselves a mental voice of their own, can communicate with each other telepathically, something that I have only just learned to do. As I said before, all good things come at a price, and that price is that I have realized just how lonely I am in this large world. Whenever I find a shadow that I like, they are always ripped away from me, usually never to be seen again. With this knowledge, I went through my existence, jumping from one being to the next as they all had died, rarely talking to other shadows, until one strange morning after a jump.

 

 

Chapter One

New Beginnings

 

Joslyn

 I wake in a strange alleyway, one that I had not yet seen before. I know almost instantly that something is different this time. I can feel the cracked asphalt beneath the dirty brick wall and my back leaning against it, and the empty space in between. Being a shadow, there should not be any. A strange sensation coming from my hand when I move it causes me to look down and see a note on what appeared to be my solid chest.

It read:

    

Dear Joslyn,

First of all, I love the name that you have chosen for yourself. I could not have picked one better. Now down to the reason that I have turned you human, yes, human. I have chosen you to turn because I have been watching you for centuries now and have noticed just how lonely you have felt since you have discovered mental communications. I have been able to grant you forty-eight hours to find your soul mate, something that I know that you have always wanted to do. However, be warned that, being so old, you have learned many things that could change mankind forever, things that some people do not want to be shared. These people are called the Foreigners, and they will do anything in their power to make sure that you don't share any information, even kill you. They will be able to detect you in a crowd because formally being a shadow; you will not have one of your own, so try to stick to shady areas. Also, if you do not find your soul mate by the end of the forty-eight hours, you will be turned back into a shadow for the rest of your eternal existence. If and when you do find your soul mate, you must share with him a kiss, and you will live out a human life and die as everything mortal does, always without a shadow of your own. I will leave you with two clues on how to find your soul mate:

Some people disagree with their positions in life, and the eyes are just windows to the soul.

             Wishing you the best of luck,

                           K.

           

I re-read the note a few times to get to know part of what was going on, tuck it into the zip-up pocket of my newfound leather jacket, and duck into the nearest shop in hope of finding a large mirror to find out just what I look like. Thankfully, this shop has a public restroom, so I slip into there, promising the manager that I would buy something if they let me use it.

           

The first thing that comes to my mind when I finally see my reflection is that I look beautiful. My long, jet-black hair falls to about my waist and my bangs fall to my eyebrows. Traveling further down, I see that my eyes start out along the edges as a color almost as black as my hair, and gain a slight purple tint towards the middle. I study my clothing, and see that I was wearing a tight fitting black t-shirt underneath a black zip-up leather jacket. I have a pair or black jeans, and black boots. Thinking about how I might need to outrun a group of foreigners if I were to get caught, I decide that at the first chance that I got, I would buy myself a pair of black sneakers.

 

Thankfully, I notice when I walk out of the restroom, that I had conveniently stumbled into a store with just about everything in stock, and that I have a mysteriously large sum of money tucked into my back jeans pocket. As promised, I buy a pair of black sneakers, as well as a black switchblade from the less-than-excited store manager, and travel my way out the door to start the search for my soul mate.

           

I stumble around the strange town that I have awakened in, jumping at shadows and occasionally talking to them, hoping that we could still mentally communicate, even though I know it’s impossible. For a while, I swear that there is someone following me, for wherever I turn, for a brief moment, I keep seeing sometimes one or two figures in black cloaks, at least a few hundred feet away. This suspicion is confirmed when I turn a corner leading into another alleyway and am struck in the back of my head while being surrounded by five of the figures that I had seen before, all waiting for me to go unconscious. The last thing that I see before the darkness engulfs me, is a pair of deep brown eyes, which I can tell not only belong to my attacker, but also to the one that I am searching for.

 

 

When I finally come to, I find myself in yet another strange environment. It almost reminds me of some of the earlier prison cells, for it is made of gray stone, has a stone slab for what seems to be a bed, straw all over the floor, and iron bars facing a hallway, lined with empty cells almost identical to mine. A quick look around at my other surroundings brings for burly guards, two near my cell and two at the hallway’s entrance, to my attention. My gaze lingers on the guard to the left of my cell. He has a slightly tanned skin tone, straight, almost shoulder-length brown hair, and does no seem to be as built as the rest of the guards. One thing that strikes me as odd are his deep brown eyes, which I know I have seen before.  I swear that I had seen him at the attack, but I do not have much time to think it over when I am reminded of the contents of my pockets. I check for the note and my switchblade, first and am relieved to find that my captors have failed take them, as well as the still fairly large sum of money in my back pocket. I dare not take any of these items out, for they would surely be confiscated on the spot, so I move on to the condition of the back of my beaten head, which is now terribly sore.

 

The brown-eyed man must have heard my small cry of pain, for before I know it; he is at the iron bars of my cell with what almost looked like genuine worry on his face. “Are you okay?” he quietly asks me, probably because he could get in some sort of trouble for even offering to help me, “Because you were hit in the head pretty hard considering that fact that it had caused you to almost instantaneously black out. Don’t worry about a concussion, you were checked for that when you got here. Your head was bleeding pretty badly, though; I could go get you a bandage, if you want that is.”

           

Taken aback by this sudden display of concern from a man that should probably want me to have a concussion, or worse, I mumble. “No, I’m fine..” 

 

“Oh,” he sounds almost disappointed this time, “would you like something to drink instead?”

           

This question earns him a warning look from his companions, but is dismissed when they see the now hardened look on his face. So, for his sake I reply, “No, again I’m fine, but I would like to know the names of all four of you, if that’s okay.”

           

“I suppose. Guarding the door is Michael and Miguel, over on the other side of your cell is Fidel, and I my name is Tandon.”

           

“My name is Joslyn.” I say, noticing a spark of what seems to be amusement in Tandon’s eyes, “So what happens now that I am awake?”

 

This time, instead of Tandon’s slightly concerned, but hard voice, my question is answered by the harsh, cold tone of Fidel, “Now, we must take you to our leader, who has been patiently waiting for you to come to.”

 

With that, my cell gate is unlocked, and Fidel and Tandon, whose grip on my arm was a bit softer than Fidel’s, restrain my arms safely behind me. That’s when the thought occurs to me; Tandon must be the owner of the soulful brown eyes that I saw as I was passing out. A guard, for what I assume to be the Foreigners is, ironically, the one. The hints from the note come back to me; some people disagree with their positions in life, and the eyes are just windows to the soul, and I barley hold back a gasp. I realize that, maybe he doesn’t want to kill me over secrets, and maybe this potential bond could be my ticket away from the Foreigners, and into a regular human life. These thoughts and more swim through my head as I am lead into a corridor that must go to wherever the Foreigner leader is.

 

We end up in a large room, which must have at one point been used as a banquet hall. It had since been remodeled into what is now a makeshift throne room. In the center of the room, sits an older man with long, silver hair. You can tell by the amount if guards surrounding him that he is important, so I find it safe to assume that he is the Foreigner leader. Even though, as I said before, there are guards all over, Fidel and Tandon do not let go of my arms, although Tandon does ever so slightly tighten his grip, as we get closer to the “throne,” as if he does not want any of the other guards to know that he is being considerate. I hear, as he was tightening his grip, a whispered and almost silent apology come from Tandon, but I just figure it’s my ears deceiving me. As we get closer to the man sitting in the middle of the room, I get an increasingly uneasy feeling about what is about to happen.

 

This feeling is only worsened when the man finally speaks up. “Hello Joslyn,” he says “nice for you to finally join us.”  I know this voice. It has been a very long time since I have heard it, but I know it. It then occurs to me that this is Kristofer, the man that had started a secret society of elders over four hundred years ago, when I was the shadow of one of his most loyal followers whose name escapes me. During that short existence, I had learned things about the human race that could indeed, change mankind forever. Then another thought occurs to me.

 

“Are you…” I reach for the note and skillfully pull it out of my pocket without exposing the switchblade, “did you write this?”

 

“Why yes, and may I admit that you are very observant to have noticed that so fast. Well done indeed,” he replies, with a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

           

By now I am confused and a bit faint, but I manage to stutter out; “And if you are, who I-I think you are, t-then that must mean that you are at least…”

 

“Again yes, that would mean that I am the four-hundred year old leader of the ancient and feared Foreigners.”

 

Trying to grasp onto the fact that, somehow, Kristofer had successfully found the key to immortality, and still comprehending how I have gotten myself into this situation, I pass out for the second time in my short, mortal life.

Author's Note

again, feedback is STRONGLY ENCOURAGED.