The walls of the cave appear etched with shadow, as if a man, long gone, has written his reality here. What do these walls say? Are the shadows some foretelling of reality, some replacement for it, some resemblance of it? The shadows twist and turn in the light from the opening appearing to grow larger as the light wanes and dimmer as noon comes.
I try to behold them, wanting to understand their message even as they blur in the light. Who was here, I ask, what have these walls beheld? Secrets surround me in the dimness, I wonder at their whispers.
Night comes and the shadows fade away in the dark. I cannot see my own hands and yet I feel their presence in the heat slowly seeping from the rock. They sink into my skin, these heated shadows and I am feverish. I sleep restlessly, perspiring profusely. As the light rises so do I.
The shadows return, slowly telling their tale. I hear of other refugees sheltered here, of fires burned for heat, the screams of prisoners, the cries of children. What happened here I wonder? Who were these shadow people who left only a chimera of their passage. The walls breathe with lives past.
I hear the sounds of day beyond the shadow walls, birds singing, snakes slithering, frogs croaking. I hear the water in the stream below, tinkling like bells as it endlessly flows. The leaves rustle, the flowers scent the air. I lean against my shadow, listening for a sound unheard, for a footstep in the midst of nature.
I am hungry and thirsty but I cannot leave this safe, shadowy space. The sound of the stream is like slow and exquisite torture as my mouth dries and my lips chap. I am afraid to go forth. Outside of the shadowy reality of my cell exist nightmares I do not want to encounter. If I stay here at least my trials will be forever etched in the rocky memory of this place. Waiting to be told to the next one who finds this place. I wait, I listen, I hear, I see. The shadows cover me in warm safety, time passes.
