On still nights, if you travel the ocean’s edge where the Northwest mountain peaks rise, a Shadow Eater will press its body firmly into a thin line and shimmy past, then open its mouth wide to swallow your shadow, which is drifting behind in wavy billows. In one gulp, your shadow’s gone, and when the sun rises, you’ll stand in the light. No contrast. Nothing to which your shape will conform, and there you’ll shine until you burn out, and your shadow returns—along with all the others—to dance in the dark. No outlines, just shapes that move, free of form.
Cecilia Kennedy (she/her) is a writer who taught English and Spanish in Ohio for 20 years before moving to Washington state with her family. Since 2017, she has published stories in international literary magazines and anthologies. You can follow her on X @ckennedyhola and Instagram @ceciliakennedy2349.