He’s waiting for something.
I just know it. I feel it in my gut.
I’ve suspected him since long ago. He thinks I haven’t noticed yet. He thinks that I don’t know.
Oh, I know. I know it well, so well.
It isn’t even just a theory right now. I’m sure of it. If I just rummage around his things there’s bound to be proof found.
He thinks he is being inconspicuous. It’s sometimes laughable how obvious he is. He is as obvious as a lone tree in the middle of a field. He is as eye-catching as a red shirt mixed in with the whites. I could go on and on but you already get the picture.
It wasn’t because he was top of the class or one of the school’s athletes. He didn’t have a position nor was he in any clubs. No, he just behaved strangely often times. Weird behavior is very noticeable.
He disappears at odd times of the day. Often times he would have some injury that can't be explained. Things like a bruise here or there, a broken rib, a broken nose, a limp, a dislocated arm or ankle, deep cuts. He always brushes it off as him being clumsy. He is clumsy, but his injuries are so obviously not because of his clumsiness. No one receives a concussion, a broken rib, a cut on the leg, a dislocated arm and a few broken fingers just because they bumped into a door.
It’s safe to say, he isn’t the best at making himself invisible.
He is not all that crafty too.
I’m honestly surprised he survived this long. It is really a miracle no one else has discovered him. I doubt no one else had a clue.
Though maybe, someone else knows. He is bound to tell a few people close to him. He honestly can’t do it all by himself. Someone is bound to discover him sooner or later.
It’s such a shame though if and when that time comes. I still want to keep him to myself for a little bit longer.
I’ve been observing him for weeks already. He hasn’t noticed yet. There has been no hint of even a confrontation from him. And I know there will definitely be a confrontation if he knows. He isn’t that well versed in the art of subtlety, even though he tries.
I’m a bit disappointed. I expected his instincts and senses to be sharper. I don’t think I’ve even been all that inconspicuous myself in my observation of him. Yet it seems my presence hasn’t been acknowledged.
But what if he actually has? What if for once he is being discreet? Was he even capable of that? What if right at this very moment, he is actually planning my demise? What are the chances that he is that good of an actor? Pretending to be unfazed, unbothered, and indifferent, as if I haven’t been burning holes into the back of his head doesn’t seem to fit what little I know of his character.
If he knew, I’d be blown out of the country by now.
Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, nor is delicacy. All he does is smash any obstacle that he thinks is a threat, which is in his mind basically anything that gets in his way.
It’s a pity for him though, as he has to deal with me.
Aside from all the petty crime and the occasional more serious injustice he has to face, he still has to deal with all that I throw at him.
He has come back more beat up in the weeks that I’ve done random nonstop assaults on the city. Nothing all that serious though. You know, like blowing up a building here or there or accidentally releasing some criminals, that kind of stuff.
I know he sometimes fights even with a healing injury. He has no choice. He thinks he has no choice. Him and his sense skewed sense of justice.
While he has been missing class, getting more and more beat up by the day, and is running out of excuses to give, I was leisurely going by my usual day, never missing a class, and not getting beat up. I even had time to indulge in some of my hobbies.
You’ve got to work smarter and not harder. He doesn’t seem to know that.
I’m not sharing any of my secrets though.
After three weeks of constant attacks, I just suddenly stop. It’s already been three weeks of radio silence. He still had to deal with some other small crimes he encounters during his patrol, but nothing ever serious.
At first, he looked relieved. His injuries get to heal. He can get to rest up a bit, or even do a bit of training to prepare for the next felony he has to stop. But after a while of still nothing from his favorite offender, he then starts to wonder if something happened. He starts to wonder if I’m planning something. And he has this gut feeling that I’m planning something big.
I’m always planning, always thinking.
He started getting antsy. He would occasionally look around; patrol the area twice just to be sure. He was waiting, waiting for me to strike again.
And I kept him waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
And by the time I will strike, he’ll either be so tired of waiting that he let his guard down or he would be so paranoid that the stress of being alert and cautious of every little thing has started to get to him. Either way, I will win. I’ve got all the advantage.
I know who he is.
I see his every move, but he doesn’t know mine. He is going to play right into the palms of my hands. I’ll mess him up. I like messing with him.
So right now, I’ll just carefully watch him. Watch his every move and then I’ll determine mine. I’ll carefully lay out my plans. I’ll carefully make preparations.
There will be a confrontation. Not now, but soon. And when our showdown happens, I’ll make sure it goes out with a bang.