Tales

THE WASTEFUL WATCH

Hidden by the shadows that engulfed the dark night, the Sentries stood guard over the empty street, or so it seemed. They stood short and stocky at their post by the side of the road, unmoving, uncaring and unaware of the dreadful fate that awaited them. Once a week they took their position in rain, snow, hell or high water. You could bet your Grampa John's false teeth that come Tuesday, they would be there, unless of course a holiday happened to fall during the week, then they would show up on Wednesday.

From behind my bedroom curtain, I watched as a gentle night rain washed over their staunch bodies like a tear that softly caresses your cheek. I felt a moment of deep loneliness for them and sadness became my mood, for I knew what the early morning hours would bring for my brave Sentries.

As the sun slowly melted away illusions of the night, the monolith approached on all fours and with groping hands reached out with one felling swoop, disemboweled the ignorant Sentries, tossing their empty carcasses to lay naked by the side of the road. They had succumbed to a fate that could only be theirs.