Most people think stories they find online are just that, stories, but some of them are very real. You know this. You know them. You just don't want to remember.
You're probably wondering what I mean, what I'm saying. Now you shall remember. I'm speaking of the Watchers, the Blue Roses. At least that's what I call them.
They lurk at the edges of playgrounds, schools, malls, anywhere children gather. And they watch. Then, a few days later they vanish. And so do all those children that never quite fit in.
All those children with golden eyes. All those children, those unaware children, gullible children, trusting, weak children.
They have been taken. Nobody ever looks for them. Ever will look for them. Ever recall their names, their faces. Ever wonder where they went. Like they never even existed. Gone.
You knew them. They knew you. They remember you. Do you remember them?
You remember. The Watchers then seem to leave. Only frost remains. You didn't see them for a while after that. Then the ones you saw were wearing the flesh of your missing, misfit friend. They never stay gone.
Even unseen, they watch. They wait. They always look different, but a few things remain consistent. The emblem of a blue rose, upon a dark hoodie. The frost where they once stood. They look like humans, but the eyes are always wrong, always gold .
Those golden eyes, so hypnotizing, void of any emotion, any empathy. So beautiful, so cold. Sheets of winter glass in the rising sun. Or setting.
Your friends had those eyes, and they were cold . You have those eyes, yours are warm. Not cold. Never cold.
You still don't see yourself. Don't quite remember.
My eyes are cold, but they have grown dull. Brown. Barely a hint, a tint of gold. I was discarded. Yours are pure, bright. The Sun. You should be that cold glass. Why so warm?
You still don't believe. Even then you didn't.
You remember, you're a risk, now you're in danger. A danger. You have become prey. A suspect predator. You should have tried harder to be taken, chosen. In a while, I, too shall be gone. I still remember them.
Don't be afraid. You will never see them. Hear them. Even feel them. You'll just be gone one day. Like all those kids you used to know. You were always under watch. You're the last one remaining. The last one remembered. Last one remembering.
And we remember you . Why would you never tell us your name?