Sadistic Bastard
No Mercy
I watched from the perspective that most never considered.
Oh, a few directors and cinematographers might have these things running around in their heads, but seeing the world upside-down and from three stories up was a rare thing.
I see it that way all of the time.
People are far enough away that if I choose to, I don't really have to see the faces. Their sort of this indistinct set of features, moving this way and that as their feet and bodies haul their heads along with their idiosyncratic walks. I like people who limp especially. It makes the features blurr more. I let my eyes go unfocused slightly at times like these, let everything be a little fuzzy. Sort of like being night-blind, where you can see just fine but the "halos" around the lights make distinguishing things difficult. I let my eyes do that. It may be bad for them. I don't care. I need a little halo fuzziness if I am to stand seeing them later.
Yes, later.
Maybe.
I usually leave the distinct alone. If they catch my eye I watch, maybe sharpen my sight again so I can take in their face. If I wish, I'm gifted with the ability to see every poor and blemish. I'll do it with some. And those are the ones I let go. It's one of those indistinct ones that I'll follow, someone with a perfect walk, straight spine, good shoes, bland, even attractive features. One of those. I'll pick them at random from my perch.
Maybe it's because I can't really walk normally either. My feet long ago lost their humanity...in fact I think that's the second thing that changed, after my appetite, of course. I think there are some species of finches or barn sparrows who have toes like mine. They have two facing forward, and two back...and the long foot and odd heel of a bird. It comes in handy. I wonder if that was by design? Was I designed? Were we designed?
I wonder what would happen if one of those that walk below ever looked up and actually saw me. More than that indistinct, vaguely unnerving shape under some overhang or feature. I suppose those that have actually seen me thought I was a reverse gargoyle or something. Children are usually the ones who see. They don't expect, they just take it in. But a grown-up usually tuggs their hand and they forget quickly, or if they do point the parent has something else to do.
I once hung below the stars....artificial...in some grand train-station in New York. I laughed actually, I was right in the open, hanging like some half-shadowed chandelier beneath some astrological sign (Scorpio, I think). I sat there all day, didn't open my wings and swoop away until 3 am...and even then there were dozens of witnesses. The crazy old man who did see me and raised an alarm...I dropped some yuppie's wallet full of cash into his hat a few days later. I hope he didn't drink himself to death with the windfall.
I wonder how many are like me? I look at shadowed overhangs all of the time, looking for places to rest. I'm hoping someday to see another pair of eyes staring back at me from one of them. But it hasn't happened yet. I know there are others...somewhere. I remember settling down once on a rooftop and seeing the remains, torn apart, the bones hollow and devoid of marrow, the skull shattered and empty. The smell was awful, I wondered why the residents had not come up and found the body. Maybe there were no residents in that building? I never checked. I left that place, driven away by the smell. Almost as bad as garlic.
I do read sometimes. I can read upside-down, of course. I'll read the paper over (literally) someones shoulder. I've even read a few fantasy novels, where the vampires are wondering at morality and mortality and existence...I don't wonder. I think that's hard-wired now. Like my appetite. I have no moral problem with killing. Or at least I usually don't. If I didn't have ANY problem I wouldn't need to let my eyes go fuzzy.
A orange scarf bobbs by. I hate orange. Today, I hate orange. I let the wings unfold as my odd feet release me to gravity. I follow the anonymous scarf through the fuzz of the crowd. It's dinner time. Who ever is next to that orange scarf at the intersection...that anonymous person, there....that is the body they'll probably never find. Condemned by an orange scarf on the person next to them.
I am as innocent as a lighting bolt, seeking the unfortunate tree to split.
Life's a bitch, isn't it?
Oh, a few directors and cinematographers might have these things running around in their heads, but seeing the world upside-down and from three stories up was a rare thing.
I see it that way all of the time.
People are far enough away that if I choose to, I don't really have to see the faces. Their sort of this indistinct set of features, moving this way and that as their feet and bodies haul their heads along with their idiosyncratic walks. I like people who limp especially. It makes the features blurr more. I let my eyes go unfocused slightly at times like these, let everything be a little fuzzy. Sort of like being night-blind, where you can see just fine but the "halos" around the lights make distinguishing things difficult. I let my eyes do that. It may be bad for them. I don't care. I need a little halo fuzziness if I am to stand seeing them later.
Yes, later.
Maybe.
I usually leave the distinct alone. If they catch my eye I watch, maybe sharpen my sight again so I can take in their face. If I wish, I'm gifted with the ability to see every poor and blemish. I'll do it with some. And those are the ones I let go. It's one of those indistinct ones that I'll follow, someone with a perfect walk, straight spine, good shoes, bland, even attractive features. One of those. I'll pick them at random from my perch.
Maybe it's because I can't really walk normally either. My feet long ago lost their humanity...in fact I think that's the second thing that changed, after my appetite, of course. I think there are some species of finches or barn sparrows who have toes like mine. They have two facing forward, and two back...and the long foot and odd heel of a bird. It comes in handy. I wonder if that was by design? Was I designed? Were we designed?
I wonder what would happen if one of those that walk below ever looked up and actually saw me. More than that indistinct, vaguely unnerving shape under some overhang or feature. I suppose those that have actually seen me thought I was a reverse gargoyle or something. Children are usually the ones who see. They don't expect, they just take it in. But a grown-up usually tuggs their hand and they forget quickly, or if they do point the parent has something else to do.
I once hung below the stars....artificial...in some grand train-station in New York. I laughed actually, I was right in the open, hanging like some half-shadowed chandelier beneath some astrological sign (Scorpio, I think). I sat there all day, didn't open my wings and swoop away until 3 am...and even then there were dozens of witnesses. The crazy old man who did see me and raised an alarm...I dropped some yuppie's wallet full of cash into his hat a few days later. I hope he didn't drink himself to death with the windfall.
I wonder how many are like me? I look at shadowed overhangs all of the time, looking for places to rest. I'm hoping someday to see another pair of eyes staring back at me from one of them. But it hasn't happened yet. I know there are others...somewhere. I remember settling down once on a rooftop and seeing the remains, torn apart, the bones hollow and devoid of marrow, the skull shattered and empty. The smell was awful, I wondered why the residents had not come up and found the body. Maybe there were no residents in that building? I never checked. I left that place, driven away by the smell. Almost as bad as garlic.
I do read sometimes. I can read upside-down, of course. I'll read the paper over (literally) someones shoulder. I've even read a few fantasy novels, where the vampires are wondering at morality and mortality and existence...I don't wonder. I think that's hard-wired now. Like my appetite. I have no moral problem with killing. Or at least I usually don't. If I didn't have ANY problem I wouldn't need to let my eyes go fuzzy.
A orange scarf bobbs by. I hate orange. Today, I hate orange. I let the wings unfold as my odd feet release me to gravity. I follow the anonymous scarf through the fuzz of the crowd. It's dinner time. Who ever is next to that orange scarf at the intersection...that anonymous person, there....that is the body they'll probably never find. Condemned by an orange scarf on the person next to them.
I am as innocent as a lighting bolt, seeking the unfortunate tree to split.
Life's a bitch, isn't it?