He exists, hidden between here and there, between the start of a task and its completion. He fades into the background of anywhere, shadow gathered around him like a cloak, face hidden beneath a fringe of hair made for dark moss and the whispers that exist deep within the forest.
He hides, and He follows. Slipping behind you he walks in time with your shadow, with him around the world seems more imposing. The world takes on a darker hue and fears you had forgotten flare back into your awareness, leaving you to be slowly crushed under the paranoia and ‘what ifs’.
You know, once He’s following you why they call Him The Omen. You can see the sprawling possibilities of the future, and none of them are good. The mundane turns deadly, and he will show you how each defense that you could raise will crumble away.
You should not be watching this.
His voice is not out of place here, in the world of man. He has carved His words out of the thoughts that echo around Him, and you would think, given who He is, that His voice should be harsh with the tone of nightmares.
But no. His voice could be anyone’s. No hidden trick or tell that separates him from anyone else, no way to determine that it is not a friend who speaks to you. Not a companion who points out your flaws. There is no way to determine that the thoughts he plants within your mind are not yours.
When you see Him first He will appears as if he is made of glass. Standing in front of you at first your eyes stare straight through Him. If you look longer however His form begins to fill in, color slowly appearing, like ink dropped into water, you can see His form at last.
However, if you can see him, he has already seen you. He has watched you, he has weighed your flaws, The Observer is the name that he was given, by the people who whisper in hushed tones, never quite convinced that they have escaped His notice.
His body is made of too sharp angles the planes of His form too flat, too perfect. If you look too long at him, if you try to turn The Observer into the observed, His form will sharpen even further. His edges will slice into the air surrounding him, and through the cleaved reality he will show you what you are looking for.
You should not be watching this.
His voice has an echo within it, the words His own, but trapped within it you can faintly hear something that sounds dangerously close to your own voice. He begins slowly at first, then gains speed, the echo of your voice growing louder within His with each passing word, He is speaking your thoughts, He is putting voice to what you are thinking and you cannot escape it.
Then He stops. Leaving behind a vacuum in the silence as his words dissipate. Forcing your brain to rush forward to fill the void with thoughts, with information, with the knowledge that he was seeking. With the answer to the question that He had posed, not asked, no never asked, only presented as an untested hypothesis for you to research.
He can only really be seen out of the corner of your eye, even now, with His glamours striped away He is still never fully in view. He is always in motion flitting around, His size and form changing faster than you can comprehend. Caught up in the task of finding Him, of Seeing Him, you don’t notice He’s leading you away.
Once He has you exactly where He wants you? You’ll know. Colors become deeper somehow, more vibrant, like your eyes have suddenly learned how to see anew. The emotions of others bleed out into the air spinning and swirling like dancing clouds and finally- Finally you can see Him.
You can tell, now, why you couldn’t find him before. His form is moving and swirling around in a mass of emotions, ever shifting, colors flowing around Him like an aurora borealis with no physical form except His heart. Which is all that you could see before, before He gave you this gift. This new view of the world, isn’t it so much better now?
You should not be watching this.
His voice is a bubbling brook, a song bird, a tinkling bell. It jumps and spins around you, grabbing your attention and never letting it go. The sound of it burrows into your heart, so deep that you cant remember home being anything else but wherever that voice would be.
When He speaks everything you’re feeling is swept up in a wave of safe, and pure, and good intentions that you would never question why He want you to do. He is good, He is right, He was given the name The Just and so of course what he is asking you to do is the right thing, with him as your moral compass you will never be in the wrong again.
Stedler's Snap Shots 