The shadow is akin to an imperfect mirror. While the mirror shows its subject’s spitting image in all its honesty, the shadow shows its vicissitudes, its jagged or rounded outline. The photograph yearns to be like the mirror or the shadow, yet it simply cannot be no matter how hard it tries.
Like a bird with broken wings unable to fly.
It’s stuck in a moment in time forever, a fragment that lives in one moment with one emotion. The photograph lies between the shadow and the mirror, a spot that captures the light and the darkness all at once. Yet it is incapable of proceeding with its path just as the mirror stays in one place and the shadow is trapped beneath its body.
He’s spent his whole life thinking he was atop it all, marvelous and genius. He found himself attached to photographs and holding them dear, trying to run from his own shadow for it scared him. The shadow showed what the mirror could not. Mirrors caught his image only in the moments he wished to see. His shadow followed him throughout his betrayals and denials, his delusions and achievements. Sickness twisted in his belly when he initially recognized his old compatriot, only for the man to not immediately recognize him and welcome him with open arms and a smile.
It wasn’t until that sickness turned to burning pain in his gut with a twisting blade until he realized the truth of it all. With his jet-black hair and eyes like voids between stars he was more like a shadow than a man. Though he didn’t follow him in body he felt his presence upon him, yearning for it and headhunting to work with him. He had been his shadow since childhood and always had a view he didn’t have, more cautious and less ambitious. Dongrang’s echo on golden hay would be obscured as Yi Sang held him from behind before pulling him downwards. The fresh scent of their little barnhouse was a glory that could never be captured in a photograph nor perfume. Dongrang would spin around on top of him and try not to completely crush him, chest to chest and lips to lips. They’d giggle between kisses and smile at each other. Dongrang loved how Yi Sang’s eyes sparkled and swelled with love.
Did that barnhouse still smell of earthy hay and summertime romance?
Did it even exist anymore?
Why would that matter?
Dongrang was about to die and meet his shadow, only remembered in photographs.
And Miss Carmen’s voice talked once more in his head to her companion, the one who sent the ideal down to Dongrang and set his chest ablaze.
That it was a shame.
A shame that such a genius was doomed to fade away without a trace.