Ascending Shadow

to me, a young homeless man resting across the handicap seating, a woman consumed by the music in her ears, and another young man simply awaiting his stop. A twinge of sympathy coursed through me before my shadow consumed me.
“I said to stop the bus.”
Like a wave crashing into me from behind, my shadow enveloped me, and a flood of destruction erupted, flowing out. Row by row, the windows imploded, cascading glass throughout the bus, as my shadow wrought chaos. The screaming began. The shockwave of destruction hit the front of the bus in small explosions, igniting the engine. Flames began to spread to the passenger compartment as the passengers jumped out of their seats to seek refuge, stumbling over one another. Some escaped the bus through broken glass windows, others sought escape through the doors. I watched my shadow feeding off their fear with delight.
I shook my head at their stupidity and grinned. As all the passengers managed to exit the bus, I proceeded to exit as well. Glass crunched underneath my shoes and small flames attempted to penetrate my skin. I glanced over at my shadow in its continued celebration.
“Come here!” I said angrily, and it quickly retreated back into its cage inside me.
I exited the bus feeling sated. I inhaled the cold fall air into my lungs and tranquility washed over me. I turned to the left and started walking. Chaos continued around me as people reached for their phones to dial police, yelled, and helped one another as the flames from the bus died out. The homeless man from the bus had already found a new destination on the sidewalk and appeared to have no concern for anything. He simply sat against a brick wall and covered his head with his hood. He had it figured out. I stepped in front of him and proceeded to my destination. Moments later, I turned to face the front of my building, the bus flames dying out only yards behind me.
“Well, we almost made it.”
A lot had transpired in the past year. My shadow had grown exponentially stronger and it was now the one primarily running the show, while I was the one enjoying its indulgences and paying the consequences. I was doing well for a few months with the finances from my trust fund; it aided in financing my living and funding my deplorable habits. I had a place to live, a car, nice things, and a relatively bright future. However, the money was gone in no time, my car was wrecked, and the majority of my belongings were repossessed. I was clearly not in a situation to be financially responsible for myself. Now my possessions simply included my apartment, a mattress on the floor, an old couch, a fold-out table, an empty fridge, and the contents of my backpack.
I opened the door to my building. My apartment was on what was once a decent side of town that had begun to take a downward turn. It was a four-story apartment building in which I lived on the third floor. I proceeded up the steps and listened to the laughter or shouting emitting from the other rooms as the steps creaked underneath my feet on each flight I ascended. I rounded the corner once I reached the top of the steps at my floor. Immediately as I did so, the door closest to the steps flung open.
“Dani!” the occupant exclaimed. It was Johnathan, not a friend.
“Johnathan,” I replied.
“Are you uh…in the market?”
I sighed, as I slung my backpack across my shoulder. Johnathan was a small-time drug dealer and not a very good one. He was a short, white guy with a little man complex. He dressed in shorts too big for him, a shirt too long, with a bandana attached to him at all times. He affected a false Hispanic accent too. He thought he was tough shit and was always getting on my bad side. However, quality could not compete with convenience.
“What do you got?” I asked.
“I got what you like,” he replied with a stupid grin.
“Which is?”
“You know that powder, soda, that white girl, yayo, cocaine…I don’t know, whatever you want to call it,” he said with a laugh.
“I don’t like the shit you sell me,” I said, and pretended to walk away.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, grabbing my arm lightly. I glanced down at his hand, then back at him. He quickly removed his hand, “Sorry, sorry, but come on, I’ll give you a deal.”
“I think I’m better off snorting crushed up crackers than your shit,” I replied. Not that I had any crackers. I wish I did.
“Fine. I’ll give you half off,” he replied desperately.
“All right,” I said with false reluctance in my voice, and produced a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket. He did the exchange quickly, and I was on my way down the hall smirking with satisfaction.
As I approached my door, I withdrew my key from my pocket. I looked down at my doormat. A small beetle crawled out from beneath it. I wanted to crush it because it was almost intruding on my home. Not quite though, so I gave it a free pass. I shoved open the door and entered my apartment.
I threw down my backpack next to the door as I entered. My apartment was relatively spacious; at least it appeared that way with its emptiness. I went into the kitchen, tossing my drugs on the table. I pulled open the fridge and glanced inside: an onion, two hotdogs, a sauce packet, a beer, and a gun. Quite appetizing, I thought. I grabbed one of the hotdogs, quickly unwrapped it, and put it in the microwave.
I watched it rotate, counting down the seconds, thinking I should have considered eating only half of it. I pushed the thought from my mind, convincing myself that I should indulge a little.
When it finished, I withdrew it from the microwave quickly and took a bite. It instantaneously burned the roof of my