13th May 2010, 5:48 AM
The Watcher (One-Shot)
Hey, the name's Sireath, and after a long absence, I've decided to take up writing again.
This work is off of an idea that I've had for a while now, and I just fell in love with it. This is not a conventional piece of writing. It is more a poetical piece than a typical work of fiction. It's a very stylized piece, written with a particular narrative method called stream of consciousness that I've come to appreciate after seeing it in The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner, and I incorporated a few poetic elements as well. It's short and sweet, and I hope you enjoy.
I stare at her, my daughter. She is so beautiful, her green feathers soft and neatly kept. Her long yellow beak is open in the happy cry of a young child, the red feather upon her head twitching with delight. The moonlight falls through the trees to land on her small shape.
I can see her eyes, staring into mine. I can hear her voice, calling my name.
All is peaceful, a moment frozen in time that I may always look back upon.
She must climb up the tree; there is no other way.
The forest is empty. I am alone. My wings are spread wide, and I can feel the patter of rain on the tip of my beak – or is it snow? The seasons all run together as I stand, wind colliding with by body. Snow, sleet, and rain; snow, sleet, and rain – they come.
I will not be moved by what I cannot feel.
A claw raised to strike.
She smiles up at me, her mother.
I look at the sun, and time slows until I am once again in step with the world. When am I? I feel my age deep in my bones, the ache of many long years, despairing. The sun is my anchor, reminds me that I am still alive, still a part of the world I see.
My child is in the past, and the end is still in the future. I look away from the sun.
“What are we, mother?”
“We are the watchers,” I say. “Past, present, and future are one and the same with our kind.”
“I cannot see,” says she.
“One day, when you are like me, you shall. You shall see everything.”
“What do you see for me, mother?”
I shut my eyes; I do not have to look at her anymore. I desire tears, but that is not the way of my race. We stand, we watch, we are not to be moved. I open my eyes and peer ahead.
Such sweet serenity. I am departed in this time, forever more at rest. No more watching, no more memories, only black
I yearn for the black. I long to be at rest, nevermore to watch this world alone.
“You must climb up here to me!” I cry. “Come up to me!”
The claw descends.
The trees around me come into bloom and die within a season, within an instant that hasn’t yet come to pass. I look down, and the tree before me has become a young sapling, only three leaves upon it. I can feel that my sense of awareness is waning. I cannot tell what is yesterday and what is today. I only know what is past and what is future now.
Grant me my peace.
Her small wings do not allow her to fly. She cannot yet transport her form through the physical world as I can. She must climb up the tree, there is no other way. I send my body to the higher branches and call down to her. “You must climb up here to me!” I cry. “Come up to me!”
She looks up, almond eyes wide with fear. Her tiny claws dig into the bark as she scrambles upward. The beast runs up to the tree behind her.
The roar. The child cries out in terror and her muscles lock, leaving her only a few yards up the trunk.
The beast too knows how to climb. As it hurtles its hairy form upwards, I call out again, and my daughter runs as fast as her tiny legs can carry her.
I concentrate my energy and send a wave of force hurtling down at the beast, but it sees me and braces itself for the blow. Its claws dig into the trunk of the tree, and my attack does little to slow it. Without a second chance to strike at it, the monster is upon my child.
The claw descends.
I cannot cry. There are no tears for me to shed. I can only wait.
It shall come. One day, my suffering will end.
My daughter looks up at me and smiles. With happy eyes, she calls to me. “Mother!”
“I love you,” I say quietly to an empty forest that doesn’t care.
I am at peace. There is nothing else to be felt, nothing else to be known.
I am still here, still holding my arms open wide. Has it been a minute or a lifetime? It matters not. I am still here, waiting. Past, present, and future – I see all of it at once, a collage of life. Until the day I enter the black, I will remain here, standing, arms open wide – the watcher.
Thank you for reading.
Last edited by Sireath; 17th May 2010 at 12:06 AM.
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