Zillah
The scratch of pencil on paper was the only sound in the room. The noise was out of place with the rest of the small alcove. White and overly lit, the light created a severe atmosphere. To call it sparsely furnished would be an exaggeration. There was no bed, no desk or any other object that would throw a shadow in the lights that beat down from above. The hard expanse that was the floor was met on three sides by solid walls and the fourth by a door and glass observation window that was normally occupied with one or two thugs whose job it was to see there were no problems with the lights. No shadows. The walls rose monotonously and met with the light studded ceiling, each bulb placed strategically so the whole room was at all times flooded with the maximum light. No shadows, they were taking no chances.
The sound of the pencil stopped for a moment and then was heard again. In the center of the room, seated on the cold floor was the room’s only occupant. The lights and her tight outfit exposing her more than many would find comfortable.
Golden eyes gazed seriously out from behind charcoal eyelashes. Her features were petite, delicate, and elfish. Her small body was slim and just starting to bloom. Absentmindedly she plucked at her shirtsleeve as she studied the drawing she was working on, but stopped, the material was not stretchy and would not budge enough for her to even get a finger between it and her skin.
Tight enough to leave no reachable shadow, no refuge from the light, no escape, she thought, her mouth settling in to a grim line. She pushed the drawing she had been working on away and started on another. All around her were spread her previous works, common scenes filled with common things, a farmhouse, wind blowing through wheat, people smiling as they worked. The light strokes of the pencil bringing the images to life, the pictures recalled good things and happier times now gone forever.
The new image forming under the girl’s hands was different from the beginning. Dark lines, contrasted with the white paper and room. A pause as the artist nibbled on her lip and then begin to fill in the picture with more detail. Absent-mindedly a hand reached up to run fingers through dark ebony hair only to be stopped by a constricting tight bun. Golden eyes winced. Nothing in the room was allowed to throw a shadow. Not even her hair. Such a petty prison.
The drawing started to take shape, tree trunks forming and clearing coming into being. A fire came into existence and shadows seemed to flicker from its light. In these shadows appeared many of the people from the other pictures, laughing and smiling. They spun about dancing.
In the distance a door clanged loudly, the girl smiled and continued to draw. Any time now they will come for me. More people and shadows took shape and in some areas it was hard to tell where people started and shadow began so melded together they were. Another loud clang echoed through the room closer this time.
Under her breath the girl started to sing
In the shadows we danced and played
In the shadows of summers twilight
We danced and played
Now the shadows have gone away
Chased away by the light of day
Now the shadows have gone away
Never again shall we dance in twilight and shadow
Never again until the headman’s axe comes down
Then forever shall we dance in the shadows
Then forever shall we play in twilight
Looking at her finished work she ran her hand over the dancers and whispered, “I will join you again soon ma and pa, and then no one will be able to separate us.”
