Without The Other Me

 It had been a long time since the presence returned the voice, the shadow, the familiar whisper that always crept in when everything felt like it was falling apart.

“Hello, brother… it’s been a while since we took arms together.”

The words came not from outside, but from within. A cold chill ran down his spine as he paused mid-thought, staring blankly into nothing. The voice was calm, persuasive  too familiar.

“I’m here to be your anchor. Wake up from your slumber. Don’t listen to anyone else. Only me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, as if that alone could cast the shadow away. “You always come when I’m down.”

“Of course I do. I come to lift you out of your ordinary thinking. I make you sharp. I make you fearless.”

“I don’t want you anymore,” he whispered, almost pleading.

The voice laughed softly, not in malice, but in quiet triumph. “You can’t escape me. I’m your shadow. Every time you look back, I’m there.”

His heart pounded harder. “No. I may not be brave like you… but I don’t trust you. Not anymore.”

“What’s there not to trust?” the voice asked, mockingly sweet. “I’ve always been here for you.”

“You leave me broken. You smile while I’m in shambles.”

“I smile because it’s fun. If you can’t handle my fun, that’s on you.”

He clenched his fists. “I was great before you.”

The voice snapped, sharper now. “You were ordinary. No one even knew you existed.”

“But I have God,” he said, with a trembling breath. “That’s who I’ve always had.”

Silence.

Then the voice returned, quieter but crueler. “If He were truly enough, would you still need me? Would you still let me in?”

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. “Everything I have… everything I’ve become… I owe it to Him.”

The voice hissed its final reply, “Lies you tell yourself to sleep better. It was me all along. I made you matter. "

“You can silence everyone else, but you can’t silence me.”

He sat down, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. “I didn’t ask for you.”

“But you needed me. When they ignored you. When they laughed. When the world passed you by I stepped in. I gave you fire.”

“No… you gave me bitterness. Anger. Revenge disguised as courage.”

The voice chuckled again, softer now, creeping in like smoke through a crack. “And it worked, didn’t it? People finally saw you. Heard you. Feared you, even.”

“But I lost myself,” he said, voice cracking. “I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the eyes staring back.”

A long pause. Then the voice turned colder.

“You miss me. That’s why I’m here. You miss how I made you feel. Sharp. Powerful. Untouchable. Don’t lie to yourself — you don’t want peace. You want control.”

He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a screech. “I want freedom.”

“Freedom?” The word was spat like a joke.

 “Freedom is for the blind. You’d rather walk in truth, wouldn’t you? And I am the truth. I’ve seen your thoughts. I am your thoughts.”

“No. You’re a parasite,” he said through gritted teeth. “Feeding off my wounds. But I’m done feeding you.”

Silence again. For a brief moment, the air felt lighter. The weight lifted  if only for a second.

Then, like a hand on his shoulder, the voice returned quieter, more desperate now.

“You’ll come back. When the world disappoints you again. When the prayers feel unanswered. When the silence grows louder. I’ll be there. You always come back.”

He walked to the window and opened it. A gust of wind pushed into the room, rustling the papers on his desk. The light of dawn was breaking. He breathed it in long, slow, cleansing.

“I may fall,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But next time, I’ll rise without you.”