The Watcher

"Shh, shh, little one!" Mother shouted over my hysteric cries. "I think someone is listening." The chilling words threatened to freeze the blood in my veins. I remember a flash of bright light in the window, then abysmal darkness.

"No one is there, Mama, no one is there," I sniffled at her as my little hand curled around one of her trembling fingers. I kept my eyes on the ground as the apartments became visible through the window once more.

"They are here. They are watching," she mumbled to herself over and over again. My mother had never forgotten when she was caught by The Watcher. Neither had I. After promises of freedom and independence, she had climbed down the front of the complex and had neared the grass at the very bottom with me in her arms before that blinding light hit her. I'd often wondered how it felt on the bottom of her feet when they dragged her through it. One more strike and they would begin covering the windows and we would be plunged into a maddeningly black world.

At only 8 years old I had been devising my plan in silence and in absence of evidence. I had devised a plan that would surely procure my mother's dream of getting to the outside world before insanity took its hold. As the years went on I could tell her reality slipped faster and faster by the day. She had begun ripping chunks of her once silken black hair leaving gaping spots of scalp for all to see.

I had never known anything but this apartment and my mother had been adamant about giving us a real life before we were abducted from my father and shoved into the complex. The complex consisted of hundreds of apartment identical to ours with rounded walls and a long, wall-length window The Watcher could observe us through from his tower in the center garden. The tower seemed pitifully small compared to the looming size of the ring-shaped complex, but we all knew we were being watched continuously.

What had always bothered me was no one seemed to know who The Watcher was. The guards did not know, other tenants did not know, and we certainly did not know. Not knowing who or what was behind the blacked out windows of the tower everyone had just called them "The Watcher". My mother said I was never to misbehave or make a fuss after being caught by The Watcher, I was to be on my best behavior no matter how sick, hurt, or angry I felt at any given time. When I would "fail" I would receive the silent treatment as well as a smack from my mother. Tears often streamed down her cheeks as she felt so lost in what to do when I was only acting like a typical child.

Thus, my plan was born, all in my head of course. Speaking aloud to my mother or writing anything in a notebook could and probably would be seen by The Watcher. I often thought of how we had no idea whether or not they were watching us, or if they even stayed in that tower. How morbidly amusing would it be if there were nothing but TV screens and an empty chair sitting in a room while we all cowered at what might be?

The first phase of the plan was to wait until I was about as tall as my mother and more capable of helping her along. Check: I was sixteen and an inch taller than her. Phase two was to let my mother sit on the brink of insanity until I was sure in my gut that it would be the furthest she could go. Check: her hair was in shreds and she was constantly mumbling to herself and pacing the room at nearly any sound. Phase three was to wait for someone else to get caught by The Watch and jump through on of the windows opposite the tower. After years of waiting, check.

Some poor soul had attempted to set his kitchen on fire, from what I could see it was the perfect distraction. The Watcher's light clunked on and pointed straight through the smoke and flames. Guards were sent in, screaming ensued, then silence. I waited impatiently, going about my daily chores and taking care of my mother. I wished I could tell her this might very well be our final night together, but it was far too risky. Three hours passed and I figured if that chair in the tower was going to be empty, now was my best bet after all the upset earlier. I know I'd want a break after all that fuss and if The Watcher was in fact human, maybe they would too.

I grabbed my mother by her bone-thin wrist and began running towards the window, dragging her behind me. I turned my body and my shoulder met the glass as I heard the clunk of The Watcher's tower light. Yellow light flooded the apartment, but The Watcher would not see us as we had fallen straight into the ground. Our bodies were broken, but we had been freed. Well...my mother had been freed and moved on to what I can only assume was the most magnificent afterlife.

In my escape I had learned two things: Number one, I had been right about how the chair of The Watcher had indeed seemed to be empty. Number two, I learned that the reason the chair had been empty was because it was a specter that sat in the chair. What I've gathered is that The Watcher is not the real villain of the story, rather it is humanity that traps the people here. The Watcher is then forced to relive all of the mistakes of it's own humanity.

My humanity, for example, began when my father abandoned me emotionally due to the fact that he placed the blame on me for my mothers' shortcomings. This in turn caused me to become angry and unhinged. My mother had jumped out of that window to save me that fateful day. I had begun pulling my own hair out as it felt like a release of sorts and my mother would mumble lullabies to me. Starting fires became a way for me to get the most satisfaction from my rage, though this time, my mother did not live through it.

When I became The Watcher, I learned a third lesson. Each apartment was a window of my memory whether good or bad. These were windows into my life and I could not change them. I am forced to relive this reality again and again until another decides to challenge The Watcher and let my soul rest.