Tuesdays with Jonathan.

As I sat, hunched forward in a gaze. My arms draped beside me and my eyes glazed. I watched him, carefully I watched what he did. His actions astonished me. What ever it was I saw him do. He looked tense, and was always hard at work. He looked over at me, from time to time with a scowl. I think he liked me, like I gave him something to do some how.

So I just sit on the bench and stare at him from across the park path. He kneels and grabs. Then pulls up whatever he has. He'd wave his hand around, or examine something closely. Every now and then something would require him to stand, and he'd take a deeper stab at it, with whatever tool he had in his hands. These tools he used were all in his head, my dad had said. I didn't believe that though. Tools can't be in your head, what good would tools do you there? He introduced me to his fish once, though I couldn't find it in the grass. He told me the fish's name was Chris, and that it didn't like carrots. I never talk to him though, because my dad told me not to. My dad told me he was mad, and that if I talked to him he might hurt me, and I didn't want that. So I just watched him work with things, and stared at him from the bench across the park path.

Sometimes he puts things in his bag. Though I never see these things that he has. All I see beneath him is grass, and I never see that in his hands. But still I follow his actions, and keep a watchful eye, you never know what he might find. Sometimes he jumps up and chases something fast, and it gets away. Then he returns to his work. At the end of the day he brushes off his pants and picks up his bag. Then he leaves, so I go home to eat and sleep. I know he won't be there tomorrow, he only works on Tuesdays.

The crazy under the bench

Catching a ray from the sun and imprisoning it in my clutches an evil grin spreads across my face. Glowing light pleads for release through the cresses in my fingers. This time I will get away with it, only the girl can stop me now. I've taken care of her already however. There will be no interruptions this time.

The wind was blowing hard now in the park,
and because I'd caught the light everything was dark.

I tried to think if I knew why I would do what I was about to do.
But nothing came to mind, so I went on chanting the words,
the words to end all time.

When at last I'd finished, the sky opened up. Fire and lighting poured down from the heavens above. Suddenly there were people. They were running, and I liked what I saw. A little boy came running by, and he stopped for a moment. He knew what I'd done, and it scared him the most. He was no more then 10, and he looked like hed just seen a ghost. I laughed at the boy. Pointing my filthy gloved hand, and in the air rang the sound of my crackly laugh, raspy and harsh. The little boy ran.

When I awoke, all the world was the same. The people who passed still pointed and called me names. Laughing at me as I lay under the bench in the park only half aware. Only my hangover to comfort me, covered in newspapers to help me sleep. They point their fingers and mock me, calling me crazy. A little boy approaches me, and with a serious tone in his voice, says "Last night you destroyed the world, and I died." Somehow this bothered me, even though I knew he was just reading my mind. Then he snickered and ran away, telling his father that I was the crazy. The one who always dreamed of destroying the world.

Old and Dead

"Have you heard the news?" Asking no one while sitting in the park,
the old man did cry out. "It's my birthday and I'm turning..." stopping quietly in mid-sentence, with that he slumped over and fell away from the bench.

The passers by simply stepped around him while the birds paid him no attention at all. It didn't matter how old he was, nor was it of any importance how or why he died. The fact was he laid there now in the fetal position next to the bench. It was no question that he was dead, oh no. However if anyone should stop to do anything, that person might get in trouble. These days being anywhere near a crime scene or even calling in a death could get a person thrown into jail. Finger prints could link a person to the crime, then that person is a suspect, if no other conclusion is reached then that person is accused and while a good story may weigh heavily in their favor who knows how the judges day has been going. The judge may decide to end it all and have the person locked away for years until more evidence concludes their innocence.

Getting up slowly after a good five minutes had passed, the old man looked around baffled that he did not have a crowd, or even one person at his side. "You know in my day if a person died unexpectedly everyone ran to see if they could help!" He shouted clearly agitated. After having said his peace the old man sat back down on the park bench and waited there for a minute or two.

"Have you heard the news?" The old man shouted once more, clearly having forgotten the whole incident. "It's my birthday and I'm turning... eight.... no... nine-hundred and twelve!" Still looking confused yet sure of his math, "Oh what joy instant recovery from death has brought me." Speaking only to himself now, staring down at his feet as if to cry. "If only it wasn't too late, maybe then I wouldn't be so lonely..."