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The watching man

The man watched the girl cycling through the drizzle, as he stood under the bus stop, waiting to be taken to his hive. That was all he ever did, when at home he watched the baby, or the telly. In the store he observed as women and men strip the shelves clean, bouncing babies on hips, and pushing unruly children in shopping carts, or the children-free adults who bought name brand products, not having to pinch or save as much as those burdened by children. He always left the kids at home. They liked to touch things on the shelves. At work he watched employees work tirelessly while he sat in his glass room, like they were little worker bees, and he was their Queen.

Had anyone asked him to describe his life, the watching man would have told them the truth, that it felt gray, constantly. There was never any break, and everything was repetitive. The telly had nothing interesting, or the kids were too much. Too loud, too annoying, argued and talked back too much. His wife was devoid of energy, never up for anything, never with something new to say. Work was always the same, papers to be read, forms to approve, new employees to complain to when things went wrong. No recognition or promotions to be seen. Just his little worker Bees and him. The only thing he liked watching was the girl who cycles. She was like him, stuck in the same rat race of life.

She was no beauty in his eyes, but no women were, honestly. The girl who cycles was stocky, with blonde hair, cut very close to her head, like a boy. He always thought that was odd, but who was he to judge his only solace? He had never seen the color of her eyes, but whenever the thought had crossed his mind, he always thought of them as a soft, peachy hazel, even though that was an odd, inhuman color. It always felt right to him. He never could get a solid estimation of her age. It was constantly changing in his mind. Despite her avid cycling, the girl who cycles was pale. He felt that she was a somber woman, so to speak, and he'd like to meet her one day, but she was only ever on one road, at one time. The watching man never saw her anywhere but the road that his bus drove on. He never saw her in the store, or at school pickups. Out to eat was the same for him. It was like she wasn't a person, just a little spark of his long-dead imagination.

No one else he talked to knew of the cycling girl. His kids had never seen of her in school, or in the park, whether she was a child or just watching one, and his wife snapped at him whenever he asked, like she though the man was cheating with some 'freaky dyke'. He didn't think it would really matter if he did. He also thought it wouldn't matter if he wanted to cheat on her with a lesbian, it probably wouldn't go anywhere. His wife didn't love him, and he didn't love her. She just needed support for her children. The watching man didn't care, the marriage had kept his mother off his back.

But today...today was different. Today the watching man watched with purpose as the woman pedaled past, not looking around, it was almost like she had a guarantee of her safety. But maybe she didn't look because it didn't matter if the undead were slammed by a semi-truck? He didn't know. Walking along the sidewalk, the watching man followed the cycling girl, his head down, shivering as rain droplets slid down his bald head, pooling inside his white-collared button down.

AN: first chapter is kinda small, but they will improve and grow with my inspiration and talent!