I’ve been following him as a shadow, fitting because he has none. Where a head should be, clean air. The knobby knuckles and joints of wear and tear are myths. Sometimes, I think I’m the crazy one. Then, then, he steps into wet dirt and I have proof. I have a project. A target. Life lights up again and doubts crawl back to the cellars at the corners of my brain.

I’ve taken pictures. Compiled evidence. Really, he’s invisible, I’ve screamed, I’m seeing him, watching him, yet you doubt I’m crazy? I’ve followed him for years, decades, yet you think I’m the lunatic?

Here, I am once again his shadow. The click, clash, and flutter of camera film as I record his footprints, the dry spots of him in the rain. He’s noticed me by now, he has to. I’ve been here so long. Fingers rubbed raw by the tick of a camera, the gleeful injury of evidence. How can I be insane when the world is letting him walk, move, like a human? How is he even a human? He’s a wolf, yet everyone is blind to him.

Finally, someone stops, watches the lonely trail he’s left, dark in the pouring rain. I’ve been shivering, shuddering, my camera shaking in my hands. It’s a woman, clutching her husband’s arm, her head tilted in confusion. Like the slip of an innocent puppy.

Finally, finally. Someone has noticed. Seen the invisible man. Watched his dark, rainy silhouette.

“Honey,” she says, “I wonder how they got that camera to float like that, right in mid air.”

I’ve been found. I’m not crazy.

Life in essence is cruelty at best

That’s where I look for joy

A fun bit of jest

Can you blame the coy?

What hurt, I’ve done,

I’d rather apologize

To the night for the sun!

I’ve seized it, teased it, and accepted my geas

Let me enter in, please

I’ll give no repentance

Give me the evil sentence

I’ll accept it, Mary!

No dark my soul will carry

Life is not spent to honor the dead

It’s to gift the body for its time

Don’t weigh yourself with lead

Live without the soul’s fine

How to Communicate.

Step One. Introduce yourself.

Step Two. Ask about the weather.

Step Three. Wait for a response.

Step Four. Initiate small talk in hopes that you land on a shared topic.

Step Six. Wait for a response.

Step Seven. Ask about their day to day life.

Step Eight. Talk about a subject in hopes that they’re intrigued.

Step Nine. Give up when they refuse to answer your questions.

Step Ten. Force yourself to realize that, no matter how hard you try; cats can’t talk.

“A round earth you say?” Philip Rotter clapped his friend on the back. “I’m very sorry good sir, but you must be straight down loony!”

Serin glared at Philip before letting out a small sigh. “I’ll take it that you don’t believe in the little fairy world that lives in my back garden?”

Philip adjusted his glasses, and looked at his friend. Serin was six feet tall with blue creamy skin and piercing green eyes, he mostly wore a suit, a bowler hat, and a pocket watch. He looked almost exactly like any other gentleman in London. Except for the green eyes of course; those made him popular with the ladies. Philip patted him again. “Everyone has a little fairy world in their back garden, you’re 20 years too late on that discovery.”

Serin groaned and checked his pocket watch. “Has anyone taught the little fairy world democracy yet?”

Philip shook his head. “Modern science hasn’t come that far, but I don’t think you‘d have enough time before the Royal Scientists Meeting.”

“I know. I know.” Serin was supposed to bring something in to show the Royal Scientists by tonight, and so far all he’d landed on in the last two years was the discovery of fairies in his back garden, and a theory that the world was round, not square like the normal tradition. He was at a loss. “Hey Philip?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think one of your friends can kidnap me for a few days?” Serin stopped walking to avoid being run over by a horse covered carriage, and he took this opportunity to glance at Philip.

Philip was stroking his beard. “Maybe, it’s not a bad option, but” he looked at Serin regretfully. “I really don’t want one of my friends to accidentally kill you; it’d make for a really weird conversation with your parents.”

Serin laughed. “Yeah... Just imagine it, ’Hey mum and dad, guess how I died?” He chuckled. “My parents would ground me forever.”

Philip was well aware that Serin was an orphan, but he let him have some fun before interrupting. “Why don’t you just make up some nonsense? I mean, these history blokes can’t get more stupid.”

Serin shook his head. “I’m presenting to the Royal Scientists... not some Old History Blokes.”

“Well, that makes it easier!”

Serin looked at his friend in surprise. “How?”

“Just make it sound like scientific nonsense! Add some charts, graphs... maybe some puppets...” Philip put his hand in Serin’s face and moved his thumb so the puppet could talk. “Don’t worry Serin, it’ll all be fine!”

A small slight problem. The remote is too far away. I’m sorry. I know you really hate this show, but you know, the remote is too far away. I know you have threatened to leave, so I would change the channel, but the remote is too far away. I can see the little off switch, and the volume buttons, and for you my dear, the TV is no more, but you see, the remote is too far away. I’ve tried to reach farther, I’ve tried to stretch out my arm, but dear, every time, my hand grabs the popcorn instead.