Children tell their stories repeating the phrase and then to captivate their audience, most of the time this does nothing as their parents busily try to bustle them out the door to school or tuck them in for the night.
But I listen to the children’s stories. Curled up under a bed or in a closet. Hiding in the dark shadows I listen.
I do not mean to scare them I only wish to be like them once more. Where the world is their own little pocket, and it is bright and full of colours and stories go on forever.
I don’t remember being a child only that the world was bigger and I smaller and my parents did not listen to my stories however many and then I put they left me all alone.
Though maybe I never had them to begin with. I am not a being of flesh and blood, so maybe I was never born I simply wasn’t and then was.
I stand in the shadow the one cast by the scarfs and coats handing of them door. The night lite glowing softly purple only deepens the shadows in the room. It’s easier to hid in a room with a night light. Dark rooms spread me too thin, and I cannot listen to the stories or watch in on the dreams.
I am not malicious, and I am not scary that is the others.
I simply observe.
Unseen.
And.
Alone.
Not even the others can sense me with their teeth and tongues and tentacles.
There are no others in this room only me and the small girl telling her mother goodnight as her father softly smiles from the door.
My shadow shifts as the door are closed, I prepare to find a new room.
But stop
“Hello,” says the small girl “I’m Ellie.”
I observe her unsure who she is addressing.
I can see you by the door I remember you from last time, I was afraid then I’m not anymore.
Would you like to hear a story.
I nod I did not know I could nod.
Ellie tells me about her first day at school her new friends who have pets and siblings and herself proclaimed best friend who has 3 dada’s and one mama.
Ellie smiles sleepily and says
“Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell another.”
And so, I do.
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