Willow Valley was a summer oasis where morning glories bloomed profusely. The people were humble and steeped in tradition, particularly the poetry festival held every year where children would share little scribbles on colorful pieces of paper while watching the dancers sway in front of the lanterns at night. It was the last place anybody would expect a tragic incident to occur in.
That irrogance does not apply to me.
Perched up in an apple tree, a curious little green bird chirps. starimg off into the void of the afternoon summer sky. I am not daydreaming. Rather, I am watching the world at work from all directions, flashes of images reflected in my pitch black eyes.
These are the eyes of an onlooker, one who seeks knowledge of the present while possessing the wisdom of the past. However, despite their incredible prowess, these eyes could never predict the future. That is the first rule. Instead, the onlooker watches from beginning to end, setting no expectations, seeking no goals but progress.
However, watching is all an observer can do, for there is a second rule that must be followed by all who bear the title: unless the situation absolutely calls for it, an observer must never, ever interfere.
I am not familiar
With things such as "omens,"
But in the matters of the heart,
My eyes remain unclosed.
YOU ARE READING
The Bird of the Plateau
Short StoryAn observer is a being with the power to have eyes on the events of this world. They seek the knowledge of the present while carrying the wisdom of the past. However, they have no insight on the future. One particular observer, a curious little gree...
