>Although I started writing this in the cafe bar this evening whilst waiting for friends with one vague idea for how it would go I got distracting by chatting, knitting and laughing so didn’t finish it then. The final two thirds have just been finished after I spent the first hour after I got home debating whether to finish it or post it as was.
This piece is substantially longer than I expected and the major plot point is surprising to me. I’m also well aware that at one point it does a terrible job of the old “show don’t tell” writing advice.
This is the life.
Four simple worlds sprayed on the wall. Technically graffiti and to be looked down upon but in reality quite artistic. The shading and the lettering used spoke of artistic skill which could be used to achieve if not great things a decent hobby type art career. And the colours had obviously been chosen with skill for they truly popped and worked with the colour of the wall to bring life to the crumbling ruins on which they were sprayed.
The sentiment expressed in those four worlds added to the beauty of the work as well. It spoke of good things. Of contentment and perhaps even enjoyment. It made you realise that you only have one life and this is it.
A little way further through the ruins and there was more graffiti. This time the words “smile it might never happen”
They were in a completely different style but to this watcher they seemed to be by the same graffiti artist. There was no obvious clue that pointed towards that, it was just a feeling the watcher had. One they couldn’t shake no matter how many times they rationalised that not only could they never know for sure it really didn’t matter either way. It was another beautiful piece of artwork and the watcher enjoyed looking at it.
Surrounding this section of the ruins was a large group of tourists. They were listening to a guide. Given that they were all talking the same foreign language and carrying very similar bags the watcher felt sure they were the occupants of one of the many empty coaches waiting in the too crowded car park.
Many of the tourists had large cameras round their necks. The kind that have many functions and can take professional level photos. The majority of those camera owners didn’t know how to do more than take a quick snap with. Instead those very expensive, very powerful cameras served another purpose for their owners, they were the reason why the tourists were so very distressed (they claimed, they certainly didn’t look it) by those two small but intriguing pieces of graffiti. It just ruined the ruins don’t you know? They would take pictures, they really would but there just wasn’t any point. In fact it was almost an insult to the camera to use it to take photos of such things. And that just wouldn’t do. Obviously.
The watcher got more and more annoyed watching those people and how fake they were. But he didn’t say anything. He wanted to but his role in life was never to be heard and rarely to be seen. The watcher had gotten really good at getting his point across despite being mute. The other person had to be receptive though or it wouldn’t work. And try as he might, he’d never get the tourists to understand. Even though he was in one of the rare places and even rarer times when it was possible for him to be seen they couldn’t catch the slightest of glimpses of the watcher.
The watchers visibility wasn’t wasted however. The nameless graffiti artist arrived then, the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend. With a wink and a smile he acknowledged the presence he felt and the peace it gave him.
Buoyed by his brief encounter with the artist, the annoyance and frustration the watcher had been feeling slowly but steadily melted away. It was a tiny thing but contact like that was the job of a watcher. And the times like this one when it was appreciated was what he lived for.
Safe in the knowledge that his work there was done for the day, the Watcher closed his eyes and reached out with his mind.
Hearing the wild soul of another hurting human crying out for him, the Watcher let himself go. Carried in the ebb and flow of winds and time to the person most in need.
A worthwhile job indeed.