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The Guardians

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They are the guardians.

They look like us. They breathe, eat, sleep, walk, taste like us. They, however, are not like us. They don't watch like us. They don't skim past details, they don't overlook the sweaty fingers around her phone or the paper sticking out of his pocket. They know. They see. They do.

They don't manipulate the world like we do, with contact; no, they don't touch, don't reach, perhaps don't feel. They are silent in their manipulation, undetectable, untraceable. They only know, and this knowledge gives them power.

They are invisible to any eye, sometimes even to themselves, bestowed with their mission in utmost secrecy. They chose to be this way, to live life for the sake of others, never taking for themselves. They are quiet, viscous, but gel the world together, keep it whole.

\For what purpose can the invisible, undetectable, yet all-knowing have?

They are coincidence.

They hear the mews echoing quietly out of the bathroom stall and know to silently attract attention. They smell the blood dripping off the rafters and usher those in the right out of the way. They feel the vibrations of anguish and turn a gaze to the correct screen. They see the knife glinting in his hands and they alone wait in the alley for his shadow to appear. They taste the poison in her drink and switch the glass with their own.

They have a habit of following people, of monitoring mental state. They listen for breaking tones and shallow words, indicators of redundant history. They rarely ever interact with their elected subject, but if life is preserved and no credit is given the mission is accomplished.

They are human, even still, assigned to a greater purpose. They don't live, at least, not for themselves, but for the higher good and the value of life itself. They break down, though, through failure and fatigue, withering away, not to be missed. They don't always accept this willingly, knowing the powerful work they have done and wanting, just once, for someone to appreciate them. They cannot give up the magic, however, for if luck and coincidence are revealed to be only alertness and vitality of a select, they cannot give up the facade. They are awake. They are strong. They are silent. They are invisible.

They are the guardians.


What it looked like when I wrote it:

What it looked like when I wrote it