Spectator

 

The sun shone bright. The birds chirped. The trees swayed. And yet it felt like there had been a pause in time. Everything stayed still and stayed alive.

She sat there, on the ancient wood, waiting for something she herself did not recognise. Her mind commanded her to move and walk away but her heart convinced otherwise. Her legs moved with momentum and yet she stayed, sat in the middle of nowhere.

A man walked past by. He stopped in his tracks and gazed at the little girl who sat. Tipping his hat, he continued on his path.

Next came a little boy, maybe of her own age. He limped and huffed and limped and huffed. The girl called out to him.

“Do you need any help?”

The boy stared blankly. He shook his head and whispered.

“I need to go. Yes, I need to.”

And so he limped and huffed and limped and huffed.

Many people, old and young, men and women, crossed their paths with the girl. Most of them barely acknowledged her; but there were some who offered a smile. Never once did she ask them where they were going and neither did they ever ask her what she was doing. But she always wondered.

Did they have someone waiting for them? Maybe they were searching for something? Or maybe it was just because their heart told them to do so as did hers.

The path they took always changed. One to the left, the other to the right. They seemed to know which path led where. But never once did anyone divert from the laid out path. She wondered if the same road led to the same place. Or maybe the destination changed as the person did. She did not know. And maybe she never will.

She got tired of waiting. She wanted to leave the old bench and follow the path of all those who had passed her by. She wanted to see what was at the end of the line. What it was that lured so many to its vicinity. She wanted to walk away. But she could not. So she cried to herself that day. That day that never seemed to end.


 

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