That night, I can't sleep.
The clock ticks over to 2:56am, and I am still lying awake, trying to concentrate on my breathing. My new bed is unfamiliar against my back, and no amount of tossing and turning can make me more comfortable.
I don't know what it is that is keeping me from sleep, but I have a feeling it doesn't have anything to do with moving house. The clock ticks over to 2:57am, and now I'm just watching the minutes tick over.
My mind is a mess of thoughts. I can't even catch myself in the middle of what I'm thinking about before my mind strays to something else.
Even in the darkness from I can see everything in my room in perfect crystal-clear quality. Although I may look human, I possess qualities and abilities that are completely supernatural. I guess that comes with my life purpose being situated around human fantasy.
My eyesight is incredible; I can see the the different textures of leaves on trees over a mile away, and hear the stalks of the leaves snap from the same distance away when the leaves fall off the trees in Autumn. Even with the distance between my house and the perimeter fence I can hear the humming of the electricity running through the electric wire.
My speed, agility and stamina is unmatchable. I could lap Usain Bolt ten times on a four-hundred metre track whilst holding my breath. I can leap onto the second floor balcony of my home in a single bound - without a run-up. I mastered martial arts when I was thirteen, and could take out five black-belts in a matter of seconds.
I am not match for a human. So it is for this reason that I never use my skills.
I don't need them in a world where I have yet to find a being that can match my skills.
So really, it is sort of a shame that I have all these incredible abilities, because where can I use them? If I revealed anything to anyone I would surely be locked away in a high-security NASA facility to be tested. And even though I would probably be able to break out, it would just be a waste of my time.
I eventually give up on sleep.
Although I am not human, I still need basic human things to survive: water, food, sleep, the whole deal, really. I can just go for longer without these things.
Sometimes I wander what it's like to be human. I want to know how they see the world. I want to know how their minds think.
In a way I do, because I have spent my fair share of time inside the minds of other people. But that was different; I only existed in dreams, and it was rare to find a dream that was totally and utterly basic on reality.
I don't have dreams, as a Shadow. My mind is blank from the moment I reach unconsciousness to the point where my mind resumes activity.
It's like going under anesthetic for me; I don't realise I was asleep until I wake up, because I don't feel anything, and it feels as if no time has passed.
I usually only need two to three hours of sleep per night, but I have gone for a week or so without sleep, and it didn't affected my performance too much.
My room is large. There is a large window on the eastern wall, and in the morning light steams into it through the red, silk curtains. Beneath the window, the wall juts out so that it creates a sort of seat beneath the wall. Cushions cover the wood of the seat, and I think I will spend a lot of timing gazing out the window in the direction over the ocean during my time in this house.
The bed is against the wall opposite the door, in the middle of the wall. The bed is Roman-style, with columns reaching from the floor to the ceiling against each bedpost, draped again in red silk. The bed is made of dark wood, and combined with the redness of this silk gives the bed a modern, elegant look.
A large, dark-wood dresser sits opposite the bed on the wall closest to the door. There is nothing inside it, and I doubt it will come into use. It looks expensive. The dresser contains to sets of small drawers on both sides, and is in the shape of a blunt horseshoe, with the middle space taken up by a small stool. The mirror is framed with the same leafy vines as the archway over the front door.
My bedroom door is made of the same dark-wood as the dresser and the bed. Next to it sits a large painting of the ocean, which, now that I look at it, seems to be a view of the ocean from the window-seat. Small, white house line the dunes as the grass changes to sand, and then gives way to frothy waves that roll peacefully along the shoreline.
I pull myself from my white, silken sheets. I feel lazy if I just sit aimlessly for a period of time, and I feel no urge to sleep, even at this hour.
The clock now reads 3:03am, and in a few hours I will dressed in my sleek school uniform, in a limousine, on my way to my new high school.
Although I move houses, I do not often change schools. This is only my second school of the year, and with the way things are headed it will be my school for perhaps two years or so.
I dread what school has to offer. Don't get me wrong: I enjoy school. I just find that my education is a bore, and a waste of my time. I must have done the whole schooling process a thousand times over, and as I barely age, I can only stay in school long enough so that my age does not arouse suspicion.
I curl myself up on the window seat and let the hours tick by. I am in no rush. I never am. My time is endless and forever, as far as I know.
Slowly dawn approaches, and the sun glimmers over the water, shimmering, awakening.
Embracing the new day.