Chapter 1 - Beginnings

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Chapter1 - The Bud - Beginnings


Lifehas a sense of irony, don't you think ? We spend so much of ourtime worried about death and yet our active lives are surrounded byit. This is fascinating, don't you agree ? The pet you have thatone day turns it's fins up for the final time. Or that furry littlebundle of joy who one day decides to cross the road just a fewseconds too late and ends up with their brains splattered across thepavement like one of those damnable street arts. Let's assume for asecond that as you're reading this you're a mite older andperhaps have a fond hate for all things furry, fuzzy or scaly. Yourexample, my dog detesters and cat loathers lies in the box sat sopolished up and looked after. The one you stare into for at leastfour hours a day. The television. The square eye maker. The idiotbox. Yes, your TV has more examples of how we're surrounded bydeath than anything else on the planet. People who have never owned atelevision but have seen the gruesome details of a murder first handhave still seen less violence than you see in those four hours a day.So many programs about 'real life murders', then all the shows ofdramatised killings and let's not forget the big old number one.The news is our top source of graphic, explicit and multiple deaths.Yet here we stand, cold and shivering at the very thought of our ownmortality, how easily our lives can be taken away like the snuffingout of a candle. It all depends, I suppose, on what you consider tobe life. What is life ? Is it the lungs that breath ? The mind thatthinks ? Or is it nothing more than the search for happiness ? Butthen this begs the question, what is happiness ? Is it a laugh ? Asmile ? A chuckle ? Or simply the conclusion your brain makes to tellyou that this is right or this is wrong ?

Perhapsthat is why I am here. As a kind of explorer of mortal vulnerability.My name is... hmm maybe it's best to leave my name for later. Allyou need know is that I am here. I am alive. I am real. And I amwatching.

I'venever fully understood people. There's aspects of my knowledge thatare missing. That's not to say I don't understand what sad, angryand happy look like, feel like, but there's so much more to themthan people give credit. It's not enough to only know what theyare. Our entire lives are to be governed by these flashes of oursouls. Wouldn't it be better if we could only experience thepositive ? I'm not suggesting the bad needs to be eradicated, farfrom it. But when you look into someone's eyes and can only see thepain, that's when action is called for.


Hencewhy I'm here now.

Standingmotionless behind a tree, its rough bark poking holes in my back. Itsleaves fall like missiles intent to scratch and cut me. I don'tblame it though. This is my shroud, cloak of the observer. And suchthings always come at a price.

Ipeer round the mountainous terrain of this tree, enough so I can see,just one eye. Barely half my face becomes visible in the moonlight.It can be seen to those who might care to look hard enough that is.It's more a case of if you're not looking for me then you can'tfind what lurks in the shadows.

Nota few metres away stands a girl lit by the amber glow of a poorlymade street lamp. She shakes in the bitter cold as I'm sure I wouldif I had not been so focused on her. She's tall, whether she isnaturally this tall or a pair of high heels are hidden among the massof layers to fight the mighty winds, I cannot say. Her arms arefolded which creases the fabric of her leopard print jacket and sheturns her head from side to side as if she's waiting for someone.With each flick of her head a shimmering flash is given off in theway the dim lights catch her silver earrings. She looks worried asshe paces a small, metre long track. Perhaps I've let mycuriosities get the best of me. What made me stop for this girl inthe first place ? It was a feeling I got from her, nothing more.Maybe a feeling is all I need for now. I think for a moment I'llkeep watch.

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