What Gets Seen
Your shadow shows what you're really thinking. Not what you're saying. Not what you're pretending to feel. What you actually want. What you're about to do. The truth you're trying to hide from everyone else. From yourself.
Senator Shemar Webb had been practicing in front of mirrors since he was twelve years old.
Not speeches. Control.
His shadow sat perfectly still in the chair next to him during the interview. Hands folded. Posture straight. A mirror image of calm competence while CNN's cameras rolled.
"Senator Webb, your polling numbers have been remarkable," the interviewer said. "Voters consistently describe you as trustworthy, genuine, authentic. In a political climate where most candidates struggle with shadow management, yours seems almost unnaturally controlled. How do you do it?"
Marcus smiled. The kind of smile that reached his eyes because he'd practiced that too. "I think people respond to honesty, Diane. I'm not trying to be something I'm not."
His shadow nodded at exactly the same moment he did.
Perfect synchronization. Down to the microsecond.
The interview wrapped. Handshakes. The usual pleasantries. His shadow stood when he stood, walked when he walked, maintained exactly the right distance.
Two feet. Always two feet.
He'd measured it ten thousand times.
"Car's waiting, Senator," his aide said.
She was new. Started three weeks ago. Brown hair pulled back. Warm smile. Efficient. He couldn't remember her name. Sarah? Claire?
Marcus walked through the lobby. People watching. Always watching. Always looking for the slip.
His shadow got into the car the same moment he did.
The door closed.
Marcus sat perfectly still for three seconds. Then his jaw unclenched. His shoulders dropped an inch.
His shadow stayed exactly as it was. Upright. Attentive. Ready.
They drove to the debate hall in silence. Crowds outside. Cameras everywhere. Marcus could see his opponent through the window, Congressman Hayes. His shadow was gesticulating wildly while he stood still.
Amateur.
Marcus stepped out of the car. His shadow stepped out with him. Perfect. Synchronized.
The crowd loved it.
Inside, in the green room, Marcus did his usual pre-debate routine. Breathing exercises. Mental preparation. His shadow sat in the corner, motionless.
Someone knocked. "Five minutes, Senator."
"Thank you."
Marcus stood. Straightened his jacket. His shadow stood. Straightened its jacket.
Then Marcus did something he hadn't done in eight years.
He closed his eyes and thought about his daughter.
Really thought about her. The way she'd looked at him last week when he missed her birthday dinner. The way her voice had gotten small over the phone. "It's okay, Dad. I know you're busy."
For just a second, Marcus let himself feel it.
His shadow's shoulders slumped.
Just for a second. Maybe less.
"Senator?"
Marcus opened his eyes. His aide stood in the doorway. Sarah. That was her name. Sarah.
She was staring at his shadow.
"You okay?" she asked.
Marcus straightened. His shadow straightened with him.
"Perfect," Marcus said. "Let's go win a debate."
He walked past her toward the stage.
Sarah stayed in the doorway. Watching his shadow follow him.
She pulled out her phone. Typed a message to someone.
"It's happening."
Then she put the phone away and followed him to the stage.