Evelyn

An unknown city at an unknown time would nestle an unknown girl. That girl gave so much from herself to be known that this unilateral action began to stick with her. She, herself, with an unconscious sense of mind, clung her own nails to herself to be stuck with at least someone. She endeavored perpetually even though the ending would begin with the one she began to be exist. But what for? What for she sharpened her nails? She never questioned, she just did what should have been done, as they would say.

And then days and years went by, the whole world reached to their ways and those ways came out to light even in the darkest culde sac. It was as if every living creature was given an ethereal guide leading with an airy symphony. That was the irony, her existence from the beginning was an atrocious irony. At an unknown time and place where all those time and place senses wouldn’t matter, the weight of being with herself ceased to be the burden on her shoulders because she from that moment started to travel with it. But she never realized with which she would roamed about. In fact, it was the real motive and artificial shade that showed her around. Maybe the real shade started to be her, after taking her, she got a place for herself. That was the irony. The irony of relentless illusion carved out with shade and nails. She couldn't feel herself anymore so that she couldn’t feel a world beyond that. How would she live without her nails? What were the things that wiped that soul out? Despair and death of the soul as there was no flesh to be clung. How many times could a person cease to exist, how much pain could she suffer each death? Many times and a lot. Without realizing. It was so heavy for her to carry the burden of this in a body with multiple shades. For her, it was fairly ordinary and stable to be left alone when help was needed, or even to never be completed and to live life in this way. Does a body without shade have the right to breathe? Is there no chance to stop and rest and breathe, feel and take her nails from her back? Why was it made like this? Why did she rebel about this within, why did she condone to it? Her soul was never seen, felt, and heard. Her body merely was looked -as if an insidious shiver flowed on their shoulders- not asked, and no answer expected. She always listened and wanted, but she seeped through people like a beam of light... She didn't realize it, she always yelled and tried to find a flesh other than hers. She tried and it didn’t work out, she tried to finish it completely, she couldn't do it either.

Assuming she still had a chance, watching the death of days and hours, she watched the flow of life as if she were plucking meat from her nominal flesh. However, her determination and desire began to diminish, she could see and know what was next. That was the irony, the irony of the tyrannic realization. There was nothing but herself, then she decided to realize everything, she accepted. The end of that shade was likely, her soul. She would run away from that unknown city without being known and feeling anything. She was just going to cease to exist by cutting her wrists then drinking her blood and at last clinging her nails to very flesh of her own. Then, she exhausted herself. She would end herself with the ambition of a shady cannibal. She had no one but herself, and it scared her even more, afraid of devouring herself and not being able to keep her promises, and worst of all, being alone with her own silhouette. The day it was going to be all over would be the day herself was over. She just waited for someone, either someone to save her from her own shade, or someone to eat her before she ate herself. She solely wanted to be known.