The Frame

My first short story. Constructive criticism would be immensely appreciated.

The Night Watchman held his open gaze through a blank canvas of bare, dead-ended stretch. The black rows of silent cornfields inhabited by the occasional pine only festered in him a harsher need to light his worn out corncob pipe. He did so, nursing it's small embers, each inhale only leading him to the next, but each an intent to block out the lonely wails of the winds rustling about him. The poor man had spent decades standing, unyielding not to the attack of shady travelers or sudden terrors of the night, but to the constant, empty growls of the landscape around him. Every night they seemed to inch in on him, and every night he felt that he was closer to giving them a listen. But still, he went on smoking his pipe.

His routine was only interrupted by the occasional denizen in need of his services for only but a second. A merchant, lofting his wages upon his back. A drunkard; some of them perhaps needed assistance in a manner more severe than others. Each time the Night Watchman would do his needed order of conduct, only to return back to his bleak musing. But one night, a stranger crept up to him unlike those he had encountered before. Initially, all he could perceive out of the dusk was a faint glimmer of white. He thought that maybe for once an individual of note had finally arrived, a politician, perhaps. But his hopes were seemingly wasted, when the glimmer of white gave form to that of an elderly spinster. She slowly came up to him, and he began the slow tirade of required proceedings.

"Greetings, You have entered the domain of Terth-Hollow, what is your need for access?"

"Why, my dear Watchman, I inquire not to enter within"

This intrigued the Night Watchman, if only for a second. He then returned to his prerequisite mode;

"Then please explain your need of being here".

The old woman smiled,

"I have no need of being here, in any typical purpose."

"Then why did you come?"

"To present a specific array of ware for a specific audience"

"Who happens to be?"

"You."
The Night Watchmen raised an eyebrow to this. Not any before her; no gaudy merchant, or stumbling drunk, or way-men of any type had given him a string of replies so simple, and yet so intriguing. He could not help but peak his own interests by inquiring of her further:

“What is that you wish to sell me?” He pried, very delicately, unsure of what the old coot may have in mind. “I have for you”, she replied, “but one simple trinket”. She pulled out of the sleeve of her robe a picture frame, encasing nothing more than a blank slate. “So” said the man, feeling in a bartering mood, “you wish to sell me a picture frame? I have no need, even if the price is cheap”. But the old woman was quick only to reply, quite dryly :

“You didn’t let me explain”.

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

“I have for you” began the old woman “A view.”

“... Of what?”

“A view of lives not unto you. Speak to the frame, and you access the world. Gain insight into how others walk, eat, speak, anything you desire to see, and it will show you.”

She held up the frame, a holding it in front of her face, and inquired: “I would like to view a man eating a great feast, laughing with his family and friends”. And, with a certain air of magic, the frame grew an image upon it; a man, with a large group of jubilant folks, sat around a enourmous table stacked with dishes from around the world, all more succulent than the next, while music played loudly in the background. The Night Watchmen was greatly surprised by the feat performed, his eyes glued to the frame and the content within. He then looked toward the old woman, and requested that he have a chance to see into another’s life. “Of course! Give it a try!” she replied. She gave him the frame, and holding it front of his face, the man asked to see a sea captain. And immediately, the frame formed moving images; a captain, sitting on the bow of his craft, his body battling against the winds of the waters rushing about him, all while smoking a pipe.

The Night Watchman had truly never seen anything like it, something so straightforward, something so purely amazing. He realized he needed it at once, and asked cautiously what the price was for such a device, setting himself for an expensive disappointment. But the old woman mischievously cackled and stated:

“You may have it for free, for it is merely information. The only cost it may have will be paid by the amount you put into it”.

The Watchman, not heeding this cryptic claim, gladly took it off of her hands. The Old Woman proceeded to walk briskly away, with an unusual spring in her step that he had not noticed beforehand.

Many long, arduous nights continued to haunt the Night Watchman. However, he kept himself busy with his newfound trinket, observing people across the world living out their respective lives. For a while, it presented itself as a stark improvement in his lonely existence. He had access to seeing whatever he desired, he saw kings, free theater, countless beautiful women, even cats. But, all too soon, the magic of the frame began to take a sour turn on his mind.

His eyes turned not from the frame, glued at every moment unto the lives and goings-ons of the myriad of individuals he viewed within it. He saw not only the glorious power and majesty of the kings, but their haughty cruelty, the bloody executions they performed, the unfair treatment of their subjects. The sheer amount of people, dieing on angry whims, and there was nothing the Night Watchman could do but observe in horror.

The plays and shows began to become stale for him, as they were either mediocre or predictable, and his interest waned. The riches and joys of others turned into realizations of what he himself did not have, and caused him to grow in envy and sadness. But still, he stuck to the frame to keep out the wails of the winds.

The frame began to enclose upon him. Each person he saw began to show him their own tale of loneliness. After every party, a drunk would hobble home, slumped over and sick. After every applause, the star would return to the dressing room, unsure of how the next show would go. After every day of toil, the farmer would come in his hut, afraid for the life of his crops and family. The Night Watchman found no true pleasure or gratification from the state of people he observed. For the first time in ages, he took his eyes off the frame, and looked around the desolate darkness of the trees and fields of the dusk. He peered back into the frame, now blank, for he knew not what to ask of it. The winds sang the tunes of a million secluded minds and souls, but he could not answer back. The Night Watchman only felt more solitary than the decades before had ever made him feel.

But an idea slowly crept into his brain. He pulled up the frame, and asked “Show me a person who sees the world, but the world does not see itself”. The frame warped, and after a mosaic of faces warped amongst the borders, it finally settled upon that of a middle-aged woman, solitarily sitting in a room, peering into a frame. He peered into the frame the woman was looking into only to realize that she was observing a Night Watchman observing a magic frame. He waved, and immediately the woman awkwardly waved back. They both laughed.

Author's Note

feel free to tell me anything you think