Title: Theory of Observation
Name: Megan Christine Auffart
Sometimes when you look at something for a long time, you start to notice things.
Odd things. Things that shouldn't, in all reality, exist without extensive usage of
superglue and a shit load of plaster. Most people in New York don't notice anything,
though. They've successfully trained themselves not to, feeling a lot safer to remain
ignorant until some psycho decides to use their nuts for a mantle piece, in which case
they'll probably regret not looking people in the eye and using what they find there as a
basis for their character.
At the time, however, I felt certain that I was looking something in the eye. What
it was, exactly, I can't say. It didn't look human, though. Not even fucking Hindu.
Except for the blue skin, but that's their gods. Hindu gods. Six-armed, four-eyed,
thrice-dicked dancers of death and destruction with a little eternal life thrown into the
mix. My old neighbor was a Hindu man. Nice guy. Didn't like me, though. I'm far too
honest in my opinions for his taste.
Everyone I've met seems to inspire the honesty in me. They always end up not
liking me because of what I say. I swear I was born this way. I can't remember a day
gone by where I haven't pissed someone off with my big mouth. I can't really help it. It
just comes out. I would slap myself, but that'd just come off as crazy and I don't want to
blend in the rest of the New Yorkers, which takes me back to my observation theory.
The closer you look at things, the odder they seem. Eyeballs in the bushes, that
sorta thing. A couple weeks ago I was practicing the theory on a brick wall that was
about to demolished. It was an old building. It had a fire about seven years ago and right
now they're just getting to tear it down. Anyways, punk kids had been spray-painting the
sides of the wall since who knows when. Normally, people wouldn't give a shit but I
decided to actually look at what had been painted. Lemme tell you, punk kids these days
are fucking artists! There were unicorns and naked chicks and snake goddesses floating
amongst the random stereotypic hate slogans that usually litter the walls. Those drawings
were fucking beautiful!
One of the pictures caught my eye. Some kid had actually spray-painted a
reproduction of the Venus de fucking Milo. This baby looked like someone had snuck
into the museum and transplanted it onto the wall, it was that good. Gorgeous. It would
have been perfect, except I noticed something odd about one of her hands. It had a big
chunk missing, but not just like falling bricks. It was _deep_ as hell! I stuck my hand
into the hole and it went up to my knuckles. There were spaces inside that were deeper
than the others. Almost like a claw or something had punctured it.
'Weird!' I had thought and had just about shrugged it off when I noticed more of
the punctures leading up to the top of the building. Something had fucking _climbed_
the wall! Climbed! I spent the rest of the day looking for other such anomalies, but with
Theory of observation, man; the closer you look at things, the odder they seem.
So I'm sitting there in the central park looking at this bush in front of me. It's a
really nice plant, with dark green leaves that look waxy. I had reached out to touch one
when suddenly I noticed an eye peering out at me from behind the leaves with the skin
around it as blue as one of those jewels you see on expensive necklaces. Despite my
better judgment, I had an unshakable desire to see what the hell was behind that bush. I
suppose my theory originated from my undying curiosity. Whatever.
I picked my way through the plants that were clumped in this general area and
looked down at the body that was lying almost completely buried, not believing my eyes;
a fucking gargoyle! I had thought those rumors had been made up, but apparently I had
been wrong. I mean, that talk show could have just been computer animation. F/X and
The thing below me is no fucking computer, though. It's female, wearing a halter
that shows off more cleavage than any porno I've ever seen, although I seriously doubt
that she's had a boob job. Her face, despite the odd coloring, could be considered
beautiful, but only if one has had a couple of cans of beer. Too weird to be sexy unless
enlightened by depletion of oxygen to the brain. And they say New Yorkers ain't smart.
She groans and moves a little, making her hair look like hellfire in the light of the
street lamp around the corner. A gold hair piece crown thing winks at me and a gold
armband circles her biceps. I take a step back as she sits up, noticing how the ground
feels wet, even though we're in the middle of a dry spell. I bend over and pick up some
dirt and rub it though my fingers. It leaves a red stain on my hand and I realize that the
area has been soaked with blood. But from who? The gargoyle chick in front of me
doesn't have any scratches on her.
The gargoyle doesn't seem to have noticed me yet. As she opens her eyes and
looks down at herself, any beauty on her face became marred as she snarled and, I swear,
her eyes blazed fucking red! Glowing like Rudolph's fucking nose!
"Idiot Quarrymen!" She growled and jumped onto her feet, which looked like
they're the ones that could have made the dents in the brick wall. "They thought to bury
me!? Haven't they learned yet?"
My mouth opened before I could stop it. "Learned what?"
She whirled and glared at me, her mouth opened to reveal nasty looking fangs.
"You dare to spy upon me, human? You are a race of fools." She looked like she was
going to kill me and enjoy doing it, too. My long buried sense of self-preservation kicked
in enough for me to back away. However, this seemed to amuse her as she drew closer.
"Shrink away, human, like the coward you are." Her claws, which I hadn't
noticed before, were still covered with blood and then I realized that the blood soaked
ground probably had been more of human origin than anything else.
I knew at any moment she was going to kill me, and I braced myself to run when
suddenly I heard a voice say, "Demona." and the gargoyle turned and shrieked like some
wild cat as a laser striked her in the stomach. A human in some Halloween mask that
looked like it had three red scratches painted on it held a gun with one hand and had
doubled up holding his stomach with the other.
I didn't bother to wait and see what was going to happen. I'm no idiot like that.
Turning around, I ran as fast as I could to the street and hailed me a taxi cab like there
was no tomorrow.
You may call me a coward for running like that. I don't care what you call me
since I am still alive to hear ya. Suffice to say, my theory of observation in one hour was
both proved and abandoned. Who wants to follow a theory if it leads you to killer
gargoyles who enjoy using their claws to slice me a new belly-button?
However, I still notice things that no one else does, probably because of the
training I put myself through. Like how every time I walk past that big building with the
castle on top there are little pellets of stone all along the gutter on the street. And how
they rain down like a fucking spring shower every sunset. I _would_ try and find out
more, but after my last experience with sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, I figure
I'll use more caution. The closer you look at things, the odder they seem. Theory of
observation, man. Best damn theory of them all.
--by Megan Auffart