Observer

• Ashley Bulsara, Grade 12, Blaxland High School
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'National Treasures 2022' competition

I hated interacting with people, but oddly enough I found watching them ever so peaceful. Other people's lives are so ominous, impulsive in a way that we can't understand. There's a bench I tend to sit on at 3:30pm on a Thursday afternoon. I witness the continuous rituals of locals fly by for hours until the streetlights turn on automatically at 5pm, alerting me I should make my way home. The schedule is the same every Thursday. We begin by watching a young Iranian woman named Anita (I entitled her upon our meeting) walking from the University to the left of the bench, to the small vegan cafe named "Blanched" on my right, only ordering a depressing looking salad. After finishing her salad, she gazes down at her perfect body, seemingly to judge herself for what I reckon is her urge to eat something more fulfilling than what she devoured. Then there's Thomas, an overly tall Irishman who walks his husky looking blonde pug around the grass in front of me. They previously were accompanied by a lady the same age as Thomas, Helena. Every time she joined the duo, she seemed increasingly more tired and pale each day she would come out. Slowly, Thomas walked alone. There's an elderly Japanese woman I have yet to name because I wish for her name to match her habits. She simply feeds pigeons stale bread. I recognised the language she was speaking due to the small amount of Japanese my year 5 teacher taught our class one day for fun. "???????????????" she whispers to the birds, roughly translating to "Here's some bread."
One odd Thursday afternoon introduced me to two new someones. A young boy grasping a green, shiny balloon on a string, hovering above his blonde head. He was wondering, as if looking for someone. At one point he stood still about 2 metres in front of me, staring at something intensely. It was at that moment I realised we were alone, simply the boy and myself in the park. He continued to stare at what I thought was a tall, thick oak tree. My eyes focused slowly on the tree. Emerging, two white eyes, glowing in the shadow of the oak, and 4 slim, black fingers curved around the tree trunk. That's what the boy was watching. Mumbling to himself, he began walking towards the figure. I stood up, contemplating whether I would interfere. *Snap*. I stepped on a branch, "S*#@," the figure vanished, but the boy, however, was staring at me. A warm, slow breath flushed the back of my neck, simultaneously beginning when the streetlights turned on to remind the world that night was upon us. The breathing became faster, heavier. Frozen, I felt a shadow paint my back and long hands gripping into my shoulders, squeezing me. The boy looked at me and mouthed "Run." His balloon popped. The streetlights flickered aggressively, then went out, leaving me in the dark within its grasps.