The Watcher

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By Shane Kroetsch

I see them all. Walking as a means of social interaction, or an escape from a forced family life. They stroll down the middle of the road, at a distance. Or the sidewalk, close enough to touch.

If only my biggest complaint in life was boredom. If only I could ignore facts, because they stand in the way of my own privilege.

I squeeze above my knee, massaging the pain away. Except it doesn’t ever really go. From what I’m told, the worst is yet to come. Which is why I’m up here watching, instead of down there living.

              
“I write to make sense of life, and to give the monsters in my head a place of their own.” – the writer

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