Winner Spotlight 1: Redraft Challenge

Congratulations to our Judges’ Choice for the Rotation 1 Redraft Challenge: Fendy S. Tulodo!

His redrafted entry “A Strange Story in the Market” explores the consequence of a chance meeting with a very strange individual in a busy marketplace. The Judges were impressed by how successfully Fendy engaged with the redraft process: clearly refining existing sections of the story while also developing elements to better support the overall narrative. The result was an incredibly eerie tale which we loved revisiting!

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A Strange Story in the Market

Fendy S. Tulodo

Some things just… happen. No warning, no logic. Just you, the world, and then something that feels off in your gut. That’s what it felt like that morning in Malang. I wasn’t looking for anything weird. I was thinking about breakfast, honestly. Just wanted something hot and cheap, maybe soto from Bu Siti’s cart. But then he spoke. From behind me, in a voice that didn’t match the noise of the market. “Will you trade your shadow?”

I spun around, startled, expecting maybe a prank or some lost tourist. The man standing there—no smile. Just a crumpled white shirt, sleeves too long for the sweltering air, and those dark shades hiding whatever was behind them. The oddest thing? His shadow. It wasn’t shaped right. It moved like it had its own thoughts. Twitched when he stood still.

“What?” I asked, chuckling nervously.

“Will you trade it?” he said again, voice smooth but cold. “Your shadow. For freedom.”

I looked around, wondering if anyone else heard this. The crowd kept moving. Life moved. But I didn’t. “Trade... my shadow?” I echoed. “That’s not a thing. Right?”

He cocked his head slightly. “Happens way more often than people realize.”

A faint grin played on his lips—like he was holding onto some secret. It wasn’t a sales pitch. It felt like an invitation. The way he said “freedom” stuck with me. I asked what he meant, but he only replied, “Freedom from being followed. From regret. From memory.”

I laughed, more to break the tension than anything. “What do I get in return? Superpowers?”

“Peace,” he said. “Lightness.”

I shook my head, lips twitching toward a grin. “Man, you got the wrong guy.”

He nodded slowly, almost like he expected that. Then he turned and walked into the crowd. His shadow dragged behind like a tail refusing to follow.

I should’ve forgotten it. Chalked it up to a weirdo or a performance artist. But it clung to me, that voice. That word.

Freedom.

Later, I met Gita at our usual spot, a tiny corner café that served tea too strong and pastries always a little stale. She noticed I looked spaced out. I brushed it off. We were talking about work when she suddenly stared at the seat across from me. Her eyes narrowed.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Who?”

She pointed without pointing, just a small glance. “That guy... with the weird shadow. It keeps twitching.”

I turned quickly. Nobody there. Just an empty chair.

“Seriously?” I asked.

She nodded, still looking spooked. “You don’t see him?”

“There’s no one there.”

Her lips parted. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quieter, “You sure?”

I nodded. I didn’t feel sure.

After that, she didn’t say much. We finished our drinks in near silence. When we left, she gave me a tight hug—tighter than usual. Her fingers fumbled across my shoulders like she was tracing invisible scars.

That night, sleep fought me. Then my shadow began moving wrong. For one dizzy moment, I wondered if I’d finally cracked. But it lagged. Slid differently. Stretched wrong angles. Like it wanted to step somewhere else.

One morning, I stood brushing my teeth and saw it move before I did. That broke me. I stared at it for a full minute, toothbrush dangling from my lips, foam dripping onto the sink.

By the time I blinked, it was back to normal.

I stopped talking to people about it. I tried Gita once more, told her I thought I might’ve been tricked into something. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t say I was crazy either. She just listened.

Then she said something that made me colder than ice.

“You need to find him. If he took it, maybe he can give it back.”

I didn’t want to. But I had to.

I went back to the market the next day. It was as crowded as always. People buying tofu, clothes, toys, fried bananas. All normal.

I wandered, scanning faces. A little part of me hoped he wasn’t real. That I’d hallucinated him. But deep down, I knew he was there.

And then I heard it again.

“Will you trade your shadow?”

I turned, already knowing who it was. There he stood, unchanged. Still calm. Still wrong.

“I didn’t trade anything,” I said sharply.

“Didn’t you?” he replied. “Most people don’t know when they do. That’s how shadows work.”

My mouth was dry. “Then why’s mine not acting right?”

“Because it’s slipping,” he said. “Detached. Halfway gone.”

“Can I get it back?”

He looked almost thoughtful. “Do you want it back?”

I hesitated. “Yes,” I said.

He stepped closer. “Then you’ll carry it again. The full weight. Every failure. Every fear. Every version of you that you shed.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll forget them. Slowly. And one day you’ll forget yourself too.”

Something in me flinched. “Why do you do this?”

“I don’t. I just ask.”

He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t wait for a goodbye. Just turned and slipped between a woman selling tofu and a boy carrying balloons. Gone.

I stood there in the market, skin sticky with sweat, hands trembling. Didn’t know what to think.

Dawn barely broke when my eyes snapped open. I hadn’t dreamed. That scared me more than anything. Even nightmares were better than nothing.

Eyes fixed on the ceiling cracks, I wondered—would peace even matter if it erased me?

I called Gita. She picked up fast. I didn’t explain. Just asked her to meet.

We walked near the riverbank. I told her everything. She didn’t interrupt. Just watched me talk, brow furrowed.

Then she pulled something from her bag. A photo. Bent, faded.

“This was my brother,” she said. “He told me about a man like yours.”

The photo showed two figures. Her and a blurry boy. His shadow was missing.

“He vanished after that,” she whispered.

I looked at her. “You think I’ll vanish too?”

“Not if you choose,” she said.

I went back one last time. Noon sun overhead. Market noise loud. I didn’t look for him. I just stood. Waited.

He came.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“For what?”

“To take it back.”

He studied me. Then nodded. No magic words. No handshakes. Just a quiet breath.

My shadow—my real one—shifted behind me. Solid. Heavy. Familiar.

It felt like... pain. But it also felt like me.

I blinked. He was gone again.

Now, when I walk, I feel the weight. My shadow moves when I do. I see it stretch behind me in the evening light, long and slow.

Sometimes, I miss the peace. The numbness. But I know what I have now.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I spot someone else standing still in the crowd... their shadow wriggling, misbehaving.

And I wonder.

Will they trade theirs too?

Winning pieces are published as received.

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About Fendy:

Fendy is a writer and field worker based in Malang, Indonesia. He blends storytelling with everyday experiences, drawing from his background in sales, history, and culture. His works have appeared in various literary magazines and reflect a deep connection to place, memory, and the unseen details of life.