Sex Dipping For Croissants In Bed

There is no talk of sex in this blog update – but I congratulate you on clicking to read about Sex Dipping, whatever it is. As for croissants in bed… that’s just a wondrous thought.

Maybe I’ll write a short story about Sex Dipping later.

Weevil and Nightshade’s Compendium of Farables & Tales is nearing completion. Final edits have been delayed these past couple of weeks due to an influx of work but have since resumed. I have also started concept development for many other stories… such as one about a young girl who turns clouds into people, a boy that hides in his own skin, and a woman who cries through others eyes.

Post production for, “Both Bitter and Sweet Was Persephone Inside Most Incomplete” is through its rough edit cycle and I’m finalizing all my background plates for file transference to the team at ADi.

Below, I have attached a short farable entitled, “Shannon Shee Had a Shadow She Liked to Eat.” It is one of seven farables contained within my up and coming book, “Weevil and Nightshade’s Compendium of Farables & Tales.”

I hope you enjoy it.

Shannon Shee Had A Shadow She Liked To Eat

Throughout our lives we live in constant company – that of reflection indirect, which mirrors our moves – twists and shifts for all to see.

Shadows move by no means false. They outline our space, through hidden device, by reversing the light that guides and fuels our everyday lives.

In many ways this dark company validates our sense of space, giving formal acknowledgement of our soul and its framed grace.

But, is proper respect given when it comes to a shadows existence and its sense of place?

For Shannon Shee, a girl who many believed was more important than her next sentence, respect held no case. She scrutinized her shadow as an imposter that did not represent her actual posture.

To understand why she came to suspect that which adorned her side, one must understand how she was perceived through other’s eyes.

Her schoolmates in such ways described Shannon Shee.

Joshua Clermont would speak, “Her vision was so bright that morning flowers would not unfurl until she woke and opened her eyes.”

“When she speaks, the melodies that did flutter from her lips would cause the wind to shift from east to west.” Added Theodore Macadam.

Molly Camerra shyly said, “If she touched you with her hand, the hairs on your neck would stand for hours on end.”

Every girl in Shannon’s school envied her so. They often spoke and wished of being able to live in her shadow, to swim in her soul, for Shannon treated everyone so kindly and generously.

Who knew, nobody not… was that Shannon Shee could never be perfect nor pure… for she despised something in her life of which she had no control and for years secretly conspired to see expire.

Her own shadow.

One day, long ago, when Shannon Shee was walking home, she witnessed a long, dark demon in step with her feet. It stretched away from her body, tall and grotesque. It distorted her figure; it would not leave.

She jumped and climbed. She closed and opened her eyes. Inside or outside, no matter where she went, her shadowy reflection refused to portray the beauty that everyone else did praise.

Her relationship with the world was fastened to every aspect of how she lived, moved and looked. In her eyes, the balance of her beauty could no longer be defined by nature’s reaction to the subtraction of elements that could feed off her entitled light.

And so, from an early age of eleven, did Shannon begin to conspire how to rid herself of it – that bothersome shadow.

It was innocent enough, those first early attempts to hide it from sight.

At the age of eleven, Shannon devised her first clever plan. She decided to take her shadow for an early morning swim in the pond down the road, alone, just she and it.

When nobody was looking, not even an animal in sight, she jumped into the pond and swam to the bottom, away from prying eyes. She held her breath, watching her shadow sit close-by, and slowly positioned herself to rise as the sun reached the pond’s edge, just in time. She then swam to the surface most quick, her mouth barely breaking free to breath, leaving her shadow still submerged…to remain unseen.

She watched her shadow begin to struggle and fight. It twisted about violently, conscious of its horrible plight.  Its hand reached out to her, begging to be lifted free but Shannon resisted and watched it drown in full display. Her shadow soon went limp and drifted away from her body… into the murky deep.

For the rest of the day people noticed a spring in Shannon’s step. She was as happy as ever. She felt free.

The next morning she was awakened most abrupt. Her shadow kicked her off the bed.

It came back, absent of all color and of trust.

And it was then she knew life would never be right as long as it remained alive.

Almost a year had passed, as did many more attempts. But no matter how clever she was, how many times her shadow would perish, it would always return the next morning, sometimes kicking her awake and moving its finger in the air with a displeasing wave.

A bright idea came over Shannon when she was twelve. Instead of murdering her shadow as she had done in the past, maybe she could lose it, make it confused, and finally break free from its grasp.

Shannon decided to run a marathon in June, when the sun peaked at its fullest height.

The roads were un-even; cobblestones were mashed together like spicy seasoning.

She was by far the youngest of athletes, quite overshadowed, literally… even by the smallest of runners.

The race began with a loud “CLAP” and Shannon ran, ever so fast.

Weaving and twisting between bodies so quick, she noticed her shadow was getting lost in the thick.

It began blending with other shadows; sweating profusely they began to stick together like paste on paper.

Before too long a pile of shadows turned into a ball and began to roll out of control. Runners were plowed over by its chaotic fray, which disrupted the marathon, almost ending the race.

With great humor of all that witnessed the scene, in the end Shannon ended up winning the marathon, without her shadow to share in her wondrous glory.

And it worked! Her shadow was gone!

At least, for three days…

On the morning of the fourth day she awoke with an ache coming from her head. Her shadow was pulling the hair from her scalp! It was indeed most upset.

Shannon thought, If it worked for three days, why not try again?

So, through the year Shannon would lose her shadow at dances and markets… every chance she could get.

But three days was a number she could not break, and her head would always hurt from each fourth day’s morning wake.

Thirteen was a great year for Shannon Shee. She figured out how to lose her shadow for a whole week.

Each weekend she worked for her uncle in his ice-factory; shuffling papers and keeping the office clean. Ever so patient, she would wait until the workers all broke at noon to eat their lunch and take a break.

It was during this time she would enter the chamber where they stored the ice. Her cold breath would eject a shadowy mist until she drained her shadow’s body, leaving it stuck to the floor, contorted, broken and frozen.

She’d then smile, wink… and shut the door.

Of course, a shadow is nothing to be trifled with. When it returned after the first week passed, Shannon was awoken with a sensation of burning.

It made a sharp edge with its finger and sliced her quite neatly, one inch… down her arm, barely breaking the skin.

This happened for weeks on end until Shannon’s arm was covered with dozens of scratches, none to deep though to cause any scarring.

Oh, all she wanted was to be seen perfect and clean! Just like in the visions of her friends and family.

One morning, a week before she was to be fourteen, Shannon woke up to a sharp dash of pain. Her shadow was standing over her arm, which revealed a fresh cut, vengeance for how the shadow was being treated.

The anger that brewed from Shannon’s face caused the shadow to step back with haste.

Shannon grabbed her shadow’s arm and bit it hard, ripping a small piece off.

Itcowered into a corner, holding its gray arm close. A vision unseen by anyone in the world would be that of a shadow’s weeping tears… a sight no one should ever bare.

She knew that by hurting it… their fates would be sealed eternally.

Unshaken by her shocking display of brash violence, Shannon chewed up and swallowed the piece of shadow, smiled, and walked away…

Leaving her shadow in the corner, crying silent and alone.

Soon after, Shannon turned fourteen and realized her shadow was leaving her be. Curious, she pretended not to look at it direct… and noticed something she found, indeed, most suspect.

The piece of her shadow’s arm that she ate was still gone. It did not grow back. It was not replaced.

Shannon’s eyes grew bright. She realized that if she feasted on nothing but her shadow, her problem might finally cease.

It started simple enough, with a fork and knife. She thought by taking small bites each afternoon that her shadow would soon be fully consumed.

A few days had passed, and then a week. Shannon Shee’s subtle reflection was quickly disappearing… and she was beginning to grow quite weak.

Her friends and family were very concerned. They noticed her skin began to absorb the same gray tone her shadow once held; which was barely there to be seen.

Shannon was not swayed by their concerns; she didn’t wish to listen to their fears. This was the only way she could become pure… to be beautiful, whole and clear.

The sun was shining bright the day Shannon once again took up her fork and knife. She was sitting down in the park, alone with her thoughts. Only a portion of her shadow now remained…

It was the shape of her heart.

Weakly, so feebly… Shannon lifted it to her mouth, closing on it gently. It swirled down into her stomach, settled, and rumbled quite softly.

Shannon’s eyes closed as she lay down on the grass, her skin fading into silent gray.

Her shadow, now inside her, was fully hidden away.

There, in the park, forever more in reflection of beauty indirect, did Shannon Shee stay.

And never again, in this world, did she wake.

• Mark Roush