Edition 3: The Observer by Hansen Hovell Holladay

flag USFrom the other side of the glass, it always pays to be detached. What do you do when you feel for the object of your observation? A flash piece by Hanson Hovell Holladay gives a small insight in The Observer. SY

Gazing into the monitor’s screen, the Observer suddenly becomes uneasy. The woman below always rises with the sun, watching it grow in brightness throughout the morning hours. Only on this morning she does not appear. Those that encircle her life stir and pace about as though the day seems just as any other. Where is she? He thinks to himself. What’s wrong?

On the nearside of the planet’s natural satellite, invisible to the people that dwell below, the Observer scans the numerous monitors before him. Looking, he can see everyone and all they have created over time—everyone but her. She had been crying the day before, having emptied her sadness in isolation. With every tear she struggled to breathe, until exhaustion carried her into a deep slumber. He knows that she suffers from inner pain. What can I do? Why do you hurt? So much time thinking.

Having been assigned to a small society in the planet’s northern hemisphere on the largest continent, the Observer both monitors and records anything of value, whether it is historic or scientific. These records, once having undergone a series of procedures, automatically transmit via a series of obelisks towering the surface. The data gathers, undertakes a finalizing step, and relays down the Canal for study.

There had been a time, far from the present, when the records were believed to have helped those of the Observer’s time; helped to understand the cultures and behaviors of ancient peoples and their civilizations, which, after dozens of millennia, no longer held trace. Perhaps, with uncertainty, many still believe in the positive aspects. In simplicity, the past undergoes continuous examination to better understand the present, or perhaps a more appropriate choice of word, the future.

She appears, holding her face in the palms of her hands, taking short steps. Slowly raising her right arm she brushes a loose strand of hair from her eyes, revealing the post-effects of what can only be heartache and sadness. She wears a beautiful dress made from the suede of wild reindeer with artistic patterns of various birds in flight. The dress is magnificent, but her eyes, both dark and heavy, are a sight of depression, of loneliness. Slightly tilting her head back, staring into the morning sky, she stands in a state of questioning and confusion; perhaps she pleas and cries for guidance and help.

The Observer stands and his thoughts begin to race: I wish that I could help you. I wish that I could do something. Without any communication, without anyone to talk with, his thoughts go without an answer. Never, in the past or present, has a response come forth. Apart from the world below, and the time of home, the thoughts supply both the questions and answers. There has to be something I can do.

Absent of company, she begins walking away from the settlement, following a familiar trail. With the sounds of development fading behind her, she looks to both sides, noticing the morning dew along the blades of grass and brush. As she walks her struggle with life appears to temporarily vacate, numbing the inner sadness. There is a faint smile. Why do you suffer? Please, please, let me help.

On the surface it is beginning to warm, and the intensity of the sun’s beams increases, showering another chance for life and growth; only her eyes do not take notice. She continues, walking through the rays, capturing the warmth, but not the chance. She moves in routine, just as she always does, and always has done.

All around her the signs and calls of nature are brilliant, as if revealing their stories and secrets of the seasons. She looks down, as though noticing a formation of sympathy gather. Her world appears to detect her sadness. She displays care, just as she has always done. She steps lightly, never with great force. You want nothing more than that feeling from another.

With every step she takes the settlement grows further in distance. His focus temporarily returns to those of her home. Within the encampment not a single inhabitant waits in a state of high anxiety in concern for her safety. She is alone, without either a friend or hero to comfort her, to rescue her. She is truly desolate in the world. You do not deserve such loneliness. You deserve to be happy. You deserve a wonderful life.

Hours pass. The Sun begins its descent, slowly withdrawing its glorious light from the surface. She ends her journey, and re-routes with soft, gentle strides towards her home. I wish that I could save you. He repeats the saying over and over in his mind, watching her appearance fade to darkness on the monitor.

The record transmits.

Raised in the city of Monroe, Louisiana, Hanson now attends Full Sail University, working to obtain a degree within the Creative Writing for Entertainment Program in Orlando, Florida. His passion for writing emerged in 2007 while taking a creative writing course. Seeking nothing more than exposure, he continues to write both in and out of the classroom, using the works of authors of lunar anomalies and space oddities as inspiration.

About Gerry Huntman

spec-fic writer and publisher

Posted on April 19, 2014, in Edition and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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