He watched them from the top of the hill. The two straw-people were working hard, doing their assigned chores. He watched them every day – toiling away in the sweltering heat. He often overheard their laments: how their masters were heartless and how they were being exploited. They shared their joys and sorrows with each other. He could see how when one of them got tired, the other one would lend aid. The rigours of their lives were extreme.
Looking at them, he felt sorry. He felt sorry for himself. He was an older model -the scarecrow model – no moving parts. All he could do was to continue standing on top of the hill and observe them. He felt bad that he could never have any friends.
Bad things can happen at any time. However, the worst things tend to happen while alone. My story is of such a time of solitude.
Imagine an empty street, in the wee dark hours. Walking alone, not a soul in sight. Your heartbeats keeping pace with your swift footsteps. Nervously looking around, hoping that no horrors hide in the shadows. Then you see it – A moving silhouette. You brush it off as a figment of your imagination. Sadly, it is not. You realize too late. The knife is deep inside you when you see the face – My face.