was now passed out in the backseat. He had picked him up many times before. He had come to know him in a way. Amal did not work for Uber or Lyft or any of the other apps used by common folk. His passengers were of another class, needed special arrangements. He looked at the man’s watch, which was worth more than Amal’s cab. He looked at the man’s suit, which was worth more than Amal’s home. He looked at the man’s ring, which was worth more than Amal’s life. Amal glanced again at the photo clipped to his visor. At the family, whose father was absent, was never home. He knew what he had to do. He had waited weeks for this moment. The universe had presented him with an opportunity to correct one of its flaws. He turned off his phone and exited the highway. Shadows like worms Wriggled toward each other Pulsating, as one Shadow became feather Became claw Became grin Became oblivion Became eyes Eyes that could not see But when looked into, saw Shadows like worms Amal could feel his heart beat like a drum in his chest. The city was a distant glow now, the hum of life replaced with still suburbia; then still suburbia replaced with dim woods. His taxi was swallowed by the night. It became a lonely glow, a torch in a crypt, a star in an empty, black sky. He glanced at his passenger, still asleep, drooling. He turned onto another road, which was little more than gravel and mud. Headlights flashed on signs that said to turn back. Amal continued on, deeper into the woods. He knew these woods well. He played in them as a kid, alone. He lived in fantastical worlds beneath the canopy. He imagined wizards and goblins and shadows that could speak, shadows that became his friends. The shadows still spoke to him, sometimes. The taxi rattled and pitched over the cratered road. Amal glanced nervously at his passenger, who mumbled but slept on. Multitudinous shadow Towering, writhing, coalescing As a planet forms As a noose tightens As mycelium spark Feeling itself grow Hungry Ravenous Gaping maw of dark Amal drove on until he was deep in the belly of the woods. He placed the taxi in park. The wipers ticked back and forth, back and forth. Headlights stabbed into the trees. Amal turned off the cab, let the dark engulf them. Rain pattered on the hood, the only sound. He looked in the rearview mirror, licked his dry lips. His passenger stirred behind him, sensing the change of rhythm. The man’s eyes blinked open. Still drunk, thinking he was home, the man pushed open the door and stumbled out of the cab. Cold rain splattered on his face, cleared some of the ethanol mists. Amal joined him, stepping out into the black night. He looked up, let the rain wash over his face. Thunder rolled in the distance. He gazed into the darkness of the forest, into his childhood playground. He listened, in between the raindrops. He listened for the shadows. In the dark of the woods he felt eyes, great saucers of writhing shadow, felt grin, that was empty blackness. He felt his heart and excitement swell, sensed his old friend’s approval. His passenger was in his face now, screaming, ordering Amal back into the cab, ordering him to take them home. Amal looked at him, smiled, felt the dark hunger encroach. Fear pricked at the man’s spine. “You’re fucking crazy,” he said. Adrenaline and dread helped clear the drunken fog. He punched Amal then, intended to knock him out and take his keys. Amal took the hit, tasted the metallic tinge of his own blood. He looked back up at his passenger, still smiling, crimson dripping from his lips, and said: “Run.” The shadow descended Eyes that cannot see Consumed Tongue that cannot taste Swallowed Fill the belly Eat the flesh Ecstatic refresh Rain gushed on a forest wet with rot. Amal had trekked through the mud, over gnarled roots, over decaying leaves, over blossoming mushrooms. He had arrived where the screams went silent. He found the empty husk. He found the clothes, the watch, the ring. He took them into his arms and walked back to his cab. He placed them neatly into his trunk and drove home. Screams from within Garbled with bile Corroded Drowned A joyous meal Amal returned home. He took the family photo from his visor and smiled at it. He would not need it here anymore. He stepped through his front door, still dripping with rain, with blood. It was quiet and dark. He took off his wet clothes and tossed them into the sink, where maggots crawled on crusted dishes. He walked past his collections, of magazines piled, of diner saucers stacked in careening towers, of expensive watches and rings. Mice scuttled amongst the treasures. Amal was tired, the sort of tired that comes from a hard day’s work, that bodes of a good night’s rest. He felt he had done something good today. He had rid the world of the ungrateful father. He had fed his friend the rot it craved. Amal took the family photo from the pocket of his jeans and carried it into his bedroom with him. He picked up an empty frame from the shelf beside his bed and set the photo inside. He smiled at the family, at the father who was swallowed by shadow, and placed the frame back onto the shelf, alongside the other families who smiled back at him, other families he had dutifully pruned. Amal slept peacefully Dreamt of shadows which swelled Bellies full And burst, became Wisps of shadow, again 7
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