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(author's note: fiction.)

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                I

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It was strange, to watch him do that.

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He had a funny shape, an

Awkward, almost a-symmetrical gait,

A strange way of standing

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That was nearly avian,

Benign, like the loose posture

Of a great blue heron.

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                II

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And then, all of a sudden - 

One bad comment, one misused tone - 

And you’d see his shoulders drop,

And his fingers, elongate …

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His knees would bend

A little,

Tightening, as if into a coil

And his eyes would appear

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Almost to’ve changed color.

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He’d start to look at you with a deep intensity,

He’d lock eyes with people - force them to blink -

To the extent, where, strangers would naturally

See his expression, 

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And then just start backing away.

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                III

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He’d never snap. I’d never seen him once lose his patience,

His composure,

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But his eyes would tell you everything.

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If he had to, if it was between you and him,

If he were to be put in that position,

He would damn you, write you off,

And he wouldn’t feel a f*****g thing:

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Cold murder, icy disregard,

Numbness and contempt.

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                IV

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It was strange to see; he’d go from

Appearing happy, empathetic, open - 

Exuding a kind of kindness - 

To suddenly moving

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With a gelid, dangerous predation.

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V

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Always, all that would set him off

Was just an ill-tempered remark,

A single, hostile comment

And he would spiral

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Into a violent air

That seemed as if to've been conjured

Spontaneously,

Somewhere,

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Up from out of nowhere.

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Strange thing to see;

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It was a strange thing, indeed - 

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Strange, to say the least.

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