April 21st: A Watcher

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Fiendish Friday – Inert – Tell the story of an inanimate object, from the object's POV.

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I saw a wedding. Held in hands that didn't shake, I watched two people continue their lives together under the shady boughs of an elderly oak. A leaf fell on the bride's veil; she didn't seem to mind. The groom cried as she approached him; he didn't seem ashamed. They kissed and the crowd seemed to hold its breath with them.

I watched them wed and then I watched them dance and then I was put away for some time, in the quiet and the dark.

I saw a birth. I heard a gasping cry, a wet intake of breath, and I heard the new father say, "I can't believe this is real." I heard the mom reassure him it was, it so fucking is, trust me, Spencer.

I saw Olivia. I saw her look up at me with dark, endless eyes as she grasped for the toy held just out of reach. I saw her painted in blues and reds and smiling as she spread that paint out around her. I saw her walk, tottering and fearless, into her father's arms. I saw her dance and cry and laugh and scream and shout. I remembered all those moments in case they ever needed reminding.

I saw those that followed. I didn't see their birth, but I was there in the quiet moment after as a nurse held me and the three little babies with their coloured bracelets met their family. Their father held Olivia to them; I watched as she reached down with a chubby hand and I watched as a smaller one reached up to meet hers.

I watched those hands meet, and I watched her hold her brother's hand for the very first time.

I watched those babies grow and I watched one more join, and all the moments in-between. I was there the first time Alyssa discovered that not every chemical liked being mixed with every other chemical. My vision was never quite the same once I was rescued from the wreckage of the kitchen and used as evidence as to why Alyssa should be given a lab in the shed, perhaps a few years from now. I was there when Tristan began sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, keeping him company as he slipped through silent alleys and noiseless parks to find somewhere in the hushed hours of the morning that was just his own. So far as I know, he hid the evidence, and no one but us ever knew that he did this.

I was there for holidays and weddings and births and the small things otherwise forgotten. I went on a car-trip with the family when everyone was small and happy and I went on one alone with their father and filmed a last sunset of a dying mother. Eventually, I grew slow, I grew tired, and the quiet and the dark welcomed me more often than a shout of who has the camera?

I saw a final car-trip. Only two came with me. A boy drove, his hand on Olivia's knee. Olivia held me and together we watched the world outside turn from day to night, from suburbs to farmland.

They left me on the hood as they stopped to peer out at a fearsome sunset. And I watched one more kiss.

"I love you," said the boy, his hand cupping her chin and his eyes just as wide and shocked as the groom's in the wedding I'd watched so long ago, and Olivia laughed and replied in turn. A breeze came, knocking me from the hood. I saw, one final time, the ground.

I didn't see again, but I always remembered.