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| Author's Note I have been pondering, recently, the psychology of elves (Tolkien's elves). It led to this. Disclaimer It's mine, mine, all mine! Bwahahahaha!!!!!!! The Watcher by Kathryn Angelle I am older than the ages. A slender, pale skinned man sits on a park bench. His fine boned features contrast the pure white hair that lies over his shoulders. Skin unmarked by wrinkles, he is at first undeniably young. But the green eyes gazing from beneath his hat's brim are old, old, and ancient. Long slim fingers caress the smooth wood of his walking staff. He sits, and the ageless eyes observe those who pass. Your lives are so brief. Like flowers, you vanish in a mere season. How can you comprehend the weight of memories that lies on me? A young girl darts past, chasing after a puppy. Frilly skirts vanish after the animal into a bush, and a mother's outraged cry comes from behind him. He watches as the child is dragged away, pet in tow. I have seen your kings rise and fall, your countries vanish, almost before they begin. How can you, in so short a time, affect your world's fate, when I, through all my years, could not save mine? Another girl moves past his vision. She is older, and soft gray eyes study all around her. Head tilted back, she studies the sharp green of the leaves. Head bowed, she studies the scarlet of the flowers. Eyes lift, and she watches the man on the bench. Perhaps she knows who he is. What he is. One of those, who believe in the ether creatures, who are trusting enough to see with clear site. And then, perhaps she is just another girl, walking in the park. I tried. Heaven help me, I tried. But I could not do enough... The sun is setting, and fiery reds reflect in the man's eyes, and the gold in his pupils glints fiery. I did try. But they would not listen. We live forever, they said. The ages do not touch us as they touch them. This world will always be ours. But they were wrong. An elf sits on a park bench. He is not the last. There are others, scattered among the humans, whose lives are so short. But they are few, and the humans are many. They will never reclaim what they have lost. They have ceased to even try. But they remember, ageless, timeless, deathless, and the years weigh on them. Their people vanished, slowly, but surely. A few at a time, they left the troubles of this world, vanishing into the mists, seeking release. Mayhap they found it. He does not know. He sits on a park bench, and longs for peace, any peace. You have your world. What will you do with it, I wonder? Do not make the mistakes we did, I beg you. Do not ignore the problems, and pray they go away. They grow worse with time. When first it became clear that this earth was no longer ours, I grew angry with your people. You had taken what belonged to us, and us alone! But it no longer matters. My kind were already disappearing before you came, and had you come but a short time later...by our reckoning...we would have been gone. Why do I remain among you? I do not know. But I will watch until the ages overtake even me... The sun sets. The world plunges into blackness. But only for a time. |
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