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The Watching Man

The Watching Man



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Published by Connor Ludovissy
What is it to live life? A student is forced to examine this question as he peers into the lives of others.
What is it to live life? A student is forced to examine this question as he peers into the lives of others.

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Published by: Connor Ludovissy on May 08, 2011


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1The Watching Man
The boy who was now a man sat on a wooden bench in a circle of wooden benches. The old, creaking thing surrounded a stout tree, maybe an oak, covered inleaves.The night had a strange glow. The streetlights of the city were waging war withthe encroaching darkness. A young man and young woman sat and held hands inthe grass. In the dark. They didn’t think anyone could see them.But I can see you, thought the benched observer. They are lovers –perhaps theyhave run away from their families with only each other to hold onto. Or maybethey just met, a chance encounter after class or in a restaurant.The young man and his companion reclined on the grass to stare at the stars.The woman grabbed the man’s arm and pointed to the sky. Excited whispersdrifted over to their observer.He narrates in his head:The two star-crossed lovers, fated to die yet determine to live, ponder their destiny. Little do they know that this will be their last meeting, their finalrendezvous . . .A watch face glowed green in the darkness. The man in the grass stood up, brushed off his pants, and helped his companion up.Goodbye, sweet love, thought the watching man. Though our bodies may part,our souls will be forever one.
1The Watching Man
He stopped narrating. The couple walked into the light of the dormitories and parted ways, each heading off to explain his or her absence to a sleepy roommate.The watching man sighed. What will I do now? he wondered.The observer sat down on the steps of the science wing. The lobby light cast hisshadow on the steps, the sidewalk.A group of guys slowly walked down the grassy hill toward the cafeteria. Itwasn't open. Perhaps they are just out for a walk, thought the watcher.Each of them wore yellow t-shirts and long, black basketball shorts. Theywalked close together and whispered amongst themselves.The watcher smiled and resumed his narration. He thought, It's tragic. Theywere close. Like brothers. That is -until the crash. They now walk together, inmourning, their sacred bond shattered forever.The four men turned right at the cafeteria and kept walking. The observer noticed that one of them carried a basketball.The watching man had spent many nights narrating. Watching.He never considered that his hobby might be unusual. Bizarre, even. As he rosefrom his place on the steps, the thought struck him.

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