Passenger

     Bright sunlight splashed across the courtyard, casting table, tree, and people-shaped shadows; the shadows were stretched and distorted " the late afternoon’s sun hung low in the sky. The sky was a blank vastness, nothing occupied the sky save the sun. A desolate, still expanse " nearly defiant in the exhibition of its emptied state. In response to the sky’s defiance, the courtyard was crowded; bodies milled about, each body with its individual purpose or destination. Some spoke to one another, crowded in circular groups. Some smoked, others listened to music, some raged inwardly at petty frustrations, the cause of which had happened earlier in the day. Inside this courtyard, a courtyard like any other, the warm rays gently warmed the hunched shoulders of a man no more than twenty five, who was bent over a notebook, filling it with notions and ideas. He has opinions about the world, has made decisions he’s regretted. He’s loved, been loved, and he has experienced these two actions both with and without realizing it. He has a consciousness; at once concerned with items of the past present and future. His present consciousness consumed with the notebook, the smell of the early autumn air " and then becoming distracted, reaching into his memories. For just a moment, share his consciousness " accepting his consciousness as your own. See as he sees, and feel as he feels, simply be him. Do not seek to tamper with his actions, his thoughts " become, instead, a passenger.

     You hear, now, the music flowing forth from his headphones and delight, as he does, in the sound of it. You share the passion for music, you relish the crisp, cool breeze on your skin " how it makes the skin flush in an attempt to keep warm. You understand now, that instead of writing, there are mere scribbles upon the page. The man seeks inspiration; You seek inspiration. You wish for something to happen.

     Instead, things stop happening.

     A creeping sensation up the spine acts as the precursor to a dawning realization; all action within the courtyard has ceased. Devoid of movement, you follow suit and wish, fruitlessly, that your headphones were not on so as you could make use of your sense of hearing. Your sight is filled with the scribbles upon your notebook, the table you’re sitting at, the ground " little information is gained from utilizing your peripheral vision apart from the surreal notion that nothing is moving.

     Moments stretch into half a minute as you pretend not to notice, and you finally raise your head. The moment you do so, you see every person within the courtyard " each talker, miller, smoker, crowder, either lift their head or shift their body in tandem with your own movement. Each body that is not yours within that courtyard makes whatever motion it individually must do. What it must do in order to face you. Nearly forty pairs of eyes stare in your direction. You realize by looking in the windows of the surrounding buildings that there must be closer to hundreds.

     You sit. You stare back. You stand. You make slow, precise movements. You turn around, glancing in every direction. You remove your headphones and place them on the table.

     Your mind races, from one thought to the next it races; every thought brings you no closer to a realization of what is happening, what will happen, or what you should make happen. If you move towards them, what will happen? If you speak, what will happen? If you initiate any sort of communication, will the cameras eventually expose themselves and a television host appear " Steve set you up, didn’t he?

     “Hello?”

     Nothing.

      “What are you all staring at? Huh? What is this?”

     You take a step in the direction of the nearest person " the smallest indication of movement out of the corner of your eye halts your own movement. You don’t dare to step again.

     What am I going to do? You hear yourself think. Do I scream? Do I run? Walk? Shout? Beg? Cry? What? What? WHAT!?

     All enquiries bring no answers. You are a singular person being faced with an absurd situation, in which you need to make a choice. Yet you stand there, gawking, trembling, petrified. Approach someone, talk to someone! You realize you’re only a passenger, that you must settle with the actions, the choices that this man makes. You have no control, just as he has no control.

     The man runs. They howl.