EYES LIKE SHADOW
600 Words
AURORA’S POV
The eyes disappeared as quickly as they’d come—vanishing into the shadows like a flickering candle snuffed out by the wind.
But the weight of their presence lingered in the still night air.
I stood frozen, one foot on the gravel, the other halfway turned toward home.
My chest rose and fell in sharp heaves, my breath ghosting in the moonlight.
What the hell was that?
I rubbed my arms, suddenly aware of how exposed I was out here—sweaty, trembling, vulnerable.
My mind whispered every horror movie cliché I’d ever rolled my eyes at.
Girl runs in the middle of the night.
Sees something strange.
Doesn’t go home.
But something told me this was different.
And it wasn’t fear I felt.
Not entirely.
It was curiosity.
And something else.
Something that crawled up my spine and whispered, Keep going.
Still, I wasn’t an i***t.
I ran home, this time faster than before, only stopping once I was behind a locked door.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not well, anyway.
The next morning, my limbs ached, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
But something inside me had shifted.
I pulled out my brush and ran it through my hair for the first time in weeks.
I washed my face, even swiped on a bit of mascara.
Just enough to remind myself that I was still here.
That I could still be someone.
When I walked into school, no one stopped and stared.
No one whispered.
No one cared.
And that was fine.
I didn’t need them to notice me.
Yet.
Lunchtime was always the worst.
I sat in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, earphones in even though no music played, head buried in a book I wasn’t reading.
It was a routine.
A shield.
But today, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up before the slam of a tray hit my table.
I looked up.
Madison.
“Didn’t think you’d still show your face here,” she said, voice dipped in venom and lip gloss.
I stared blankly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She scoffed. “Please. Damien already got bored of you. Everyone’s bored of you.”
Behind her, a few of her clones cackled like background actors.
I didn’t flinch.
Not this time.
Instead, I met her eyes and said, “Thanks for the update.”
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“You’re pathetic,” she spat. “You’ll always be the sad, invisible fat girl, Aurora.”
She expected me to cry.
I didn’t.
Instead, I stood up, towering just a little over her.
Her smirk faltered.
“You might be right,” I said quietly. “But I’d rather be invisible than hollow like you.”
And I walked away.
My hands were shaking, but my heart… my heart felt something it hadn’t in a long time.
Power.
That night, I went running again.
Same trail.
Same eerie quiet.
Same silver moon.
And again… those eyes.
This time, they didn’t hide.
They stepped forward.
It was a boy—no, a man—tall, lean but strong, his dark hair tousled like he’d just run through the woods with the wind itself.
His eyes glowed—grey, with a hint of gold at the edges.
Familiar.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
We just stared, like two pages from the same book had finally found each other.
And when he finally did move, it was only to tilt his head slightly, curious… as if he already knew me.
As if he’d been watching all along.
- Writer
