In the city where shadows came to life, we were overjoyed (after the initial shock). That day, it was an immemorable rainy Saturday morning, with that kind of constant downpour that makes you forget how a clear sky looks. But when the clouds parted, the shadows suddenly came to life. It started slow. We noticed that the familiar silhouettes were now animated and danced across the ground. They pranced around like the neighborhood deer.
Then we realized that we would be immune from the sun if we stood on the shadows. It was inexplicable, but they were friendly and helpful.
We soon found that we could catch them by sitting on them right as they formed. If they were small enough, they would follow us. We also learned that we could transfer ownership of these shadows with a simple voiced command.
We paid close attention to the position of the sun and began harvesting the shadows at an incredible efficiency. It wasn’t long before personal shadows were being sold in abundance.
We brought them around everywhere for shade. So convenient! We did notice that as individual shadows got older, they became less effective at blocking the sun. But this wasn’t really a problem since there were plenty of shadows to go around.
They couldn’t talk, so some people tried to understand their gestures and mannerisms. Some of these linguistic types took it upon themselves to become experts and work with the shadows to develop a pretty sophisticated sign language that let us communicate back and forth. It was far too complicated and too much work for everyone but the extremely dedicated. We learned that the shadows could understand us and always listened anyway.
It was a big deal to get your own shadow. They were pretty expensive in the beginning, so only certain kinds of people had them. But just like so many other things with time, they became cheaper and more widespread.
When I was old enough, my parents gave me my own shadow. “So that you don’t need to take in that sun all the time,” they explained. “It’ll do it for you.”
My brother complained. “I was 17 when I got my shadow. Why does he get one when he’s 14?”
“Well everyone has one.” I silenced him with an irrefutable shrug. I didn’t know what I really expected from a shadow, just that I wanted one. It followed me around and listened to whatever I told it to do. It was remarkable—it seemed like its only purpose was to serve me. It was like a pet I didn’t have to take care of. I don’t remember naming it, but I brought it with me everywhere, like I used to cling to my favorite teddy bear. I sat on it, slept on it, ate on it. It kept me company.
Then I got sunburned. I didn’t tell anyone at first, and I tried to hide it. I didn’t want my friend taken away and replaced. But my mom saw my scorched red face—peeling, cracked fissures—and she knew what had happened. She threw away my shadow and gave me a new one. I cried a little bit but my mom stopped me. She reassured me that my new shadow would also be my friend, just like my old one. She taught me that it was just a natural part of life. Things lose their worth and need to be replaced, and not everything can be fixed. But I still didn’t want to give up my friend.
When shadows let the fiery beams through, even so much as a crack of light, people demanded replacements. They started replacing the shadows more frequently and for increasingly trivial reasons. Kids were given shadows younger and younger, and eventually, anyone who could understand them at all faded away. We forgot the language altogether.
Then the shadows stopped.
Ajax Fu’s ’28 (ajaxfu@college.harvard.edu) shadow is running loose somewhere in the Yard.