The Watchers

Set in a future dystopian city where a few good men act against evil.

The Watchers

I woke in a bed, but not my bed  

I was in a room, but not my room

I looked from the window, puzzled

I was in a city, but not my city

I felt displaced, disjointed

dizzying, I sat on the bed

a knock, a young man entered, a stranger

come, he laughed, I’ll show you around

I dressed and went with him

that was the way it was …

 

we were, four of us, in the Chevy,

sweeping chrome wings, angel on the hood

drove slowly, north, in the dark canyoned street

vast buildings, of red brick, concrete,

windows without number

seeming to bend over and kiss, far above

 

as he drove, our driver pointed out this and that

his bare arm on the open auto window

‘that building is where I learnt to read poetry’

‘that diner served great burgers and fries’

‘there we sat on the steps and drank root beer’

‘there a police horse ran amok and trampled a girl’

then, a great building, foursquare across the north end of the street

I gasped at the madness of it

roof upon roof, pagodaesque

steeply pitched verdigrised copper

piercing the scudding white clouds

 

our driver pointed out anonymous men in long coats and dark shades

striding with purpose along the sidewalks

‘do you know them or their purpose?’, he asked

I do not know them,’ I replied, ‘or indeed their purpose’

‘they are the Watchers, they work in these rooms with the black drapes’

he pointed up at the rows of windows

I could see that, indeed, many had black drapes

‘what is it that they do?’ 

the young man turned and laughed ……… 

 

Then I woke suddenly and laughed,

I thought about that, pin sharp, oh so real, dream.

(or could my waking  be the dream?)

Then I knew I was back in my bed, back in my room, back in my city,

back in MY own HEAD!

 

As the day progressed, thoughts about dreams and the nature of reality came to dominate my mind. My dream had seemed so real; a number of memories, perhaps some I had hardly been aware of, lurking in the nooks and crannies of my brain had been triggered and were presented in some internal ‘sensory replay.’ When I woke and remembered the dream it seemed almost as real as my ‘waking reality.’ Normally, after a dream, it would slip away as tendrils slipping from my fingers until nothing was left. However, in this case, the dream had been remembered and rehearsed so often that it re-entered the dark corners of my brain - albeit, subtly changed and attenuated.
I became a bit confused by all these thoughts but drew the firm conviction that dreams carried truths that may later become apparent.

 

Later that day as I sat drinking coffee I knew I had to clear my head from all these futile speculations. I descended in the elevator from my eighteenth level apartment and went out into the street for some air. It held an icy chill. I suddenly realised that my street was indeed the street of my dream. Running exactly north-south the great monolithic apartment blocks did, as in the dream, almost seem to touch, creating the illusion of a dark tunnel. At the north end, city hall blocked the street - a madman’s artifice with a towering pagoda roof of green copper.

Then something strange happened. It was as if the dream had removed the scales from my eyes - I saw clearly what had previously (at least consciously!) remained unseen to me. In the darkness of the shadowed street a single lit window in the city hall, taking up the whole length and height of a large room,  shone like a beacon. In the room, by the window, I could see the silhouette of a table with one man sitting at it. As I watched, he rose and stepped to the window and looked over the street. The man was the Mayor, Mayor Trumpery. Unknowable, unelected, pityless.

Then I looked on the sidewalks and suddenly I saw them, the Watchers, dressed in their long coats and shades. How had they escaped my attention? Sometimes we just can’t see the trees for the wood. Then I looked up and saw their windows with the black drapes. I shivered, and not with the cold, went back inside. Thoughts of my earlier dream echoed in my head.

 

Later in the day I ended up (as I frequently do) in my spare room ‘surfing.’ Now ‘they’ (the advertising guys on the web) do have you sussed out - you’re OK as long as you don’t profess an interest in anything but let slip that you've reached that certain age and you’ll be ‘buried’ under adverts for funeral plans within minutes.

 

Then I clicked (or more likely didn’t click) and my

favourite ‘Huff Post’ popped up - I started reading the usual drivel .....

... there was really only one way to change your voice to sound like a choirboy crossed with a bumblebee: a helium balloon.  Britney Spears took  ...  (what the hell's going on! - the server must be down again)  ... Hey Brad (what the f***!) just keep looking at the screen and pretend nothing has happened. Don’t look round or out the window - there’s no-one under your bed or watching you through a telescope from that window with the yellow curtains across the road - not now anyway! You probably think this is another spoof (I bet it's that b****** Glenn - he's always trying to catch me out.). I’ll prove to you that it's not. Wink one of your eyes, or both - you choose, a number of times. I’ll give you thirty seconds .. dum de dum de dum de dum de.. ok - you just blinked your left eye three times followed by your right eye, four. I’m right, am I not! (f*** me!)

You’ll be wondering - what the hell’s going on here?  The answer is that I’m a ‘Watcher’. I’m one of these faceless guys making my way to my ‘place of work’ that you see every day - you know shades and long coats. You’ll pass hundreds of us on your way to the office. You’ll have seen, but not noticed, these windows in the city blocks with their black drapes. We work in these anonymous rooms, in our fours or our sixes, sitting at our desks with our screens. We are all actioned with a singular purpose, one to one surveillance. It’s you and me, buddy. Joined at the hip! I’ve got your phone’s camera and mike switched on 24/7. We’ve got cameras peering from every orifice in your room - yes, even that one! Every fart, every curse, every …. OK, I’ll not embarrass you … yet! I’ll have to get to the point. There are normally three other watchers in the room but one is sick and the other two have been called to a meeting. I’ve been watching you for years now and I have got to know you better than you know yourself.

Now to get serious, and I’m risking my life by telling you this. I’m part of a secret cell dedicated to assassinating Mayor Trumpery. You have heard the rumours, the disappearances, the ‘reprocessing’ at the police academy. The reality is worse than you can imagine. Everyone under any suspicion is watched! You’ve seen Thumpery at that window of city hall. Our motto is, ‘When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one.’ We are few and they are many, but like an arch, if the keystone is removed the whole rotten edifice will fall. We are inspired by the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich in Prague, in May 1942 , by a handful of brave men.

 

We believe from our observations that you are the man cometh the hour, and the hour for Trumpery is nigh! We know that you were in special forces and gained the highest distinction for marksmanship. Don't forget that I have been watching you, listening to your every conversation (you remember saying, 'if no-one takes out that man I'll do it') and reading your every message. Time is very short - Trumpery has organised a general ‘action’ on New Years day. The ‘lists’ have gone out and the ‘action’ squads are ready. Not one under suspicion will be spared. You are our only hope.Take a little time to think about this and if you are with us give me a thumbs up ...... Good - I knew it!

 

Now to business - in two days it will be December the 22^nd, the winter solstice.

Trumpery will open the glass door of his room at city hall and stand in the opening  to bathe himself in the light of the winter solstice sunrise. He believes that it ‘purifies his bodily fluids.’ In a normal world he would be certified mad! Our cell will deliver an M24 sniper rifle, we know it to be your preference, to your room the evening before. You will take your shot from the window of the tenth floor utility room in your building, exactly 340 yards from the Mayor’s window. The citizens will have gathered in their hundreds of thousands to watch the spectacle of the solstice and once they see Trumpery has gone they will rise like an unstoppable force. You will remember the fall of Nicolae Ceaușescu in Romania in 1989.  I will not wish you luck for I know you will succeed!

 

I slept well that night - in the army I had survived many dangerous assignments with equanimity. In the evening the rifle was delivered - I received it like an old lover, reaquainted myself with it's intimate parts! In the morning I woke early and was ready in the utility room two hours before the sunrise. The sky was clear. All lights had been extinguished. Above the topmost pagoda roof of city hall the North star hung like some megalithic omen. As I lay looking at the city hall I focussed on the North star and gradually became aware that it was me, atop the spinning earth, that was turning inexorably instead of the stars. 

One hour before sunrise the crowds started to fill the length of the street. I checked my watch. With ten minutes to go I started my TM routine to slow my heart. With two minutes left I settled into the firing position and took aim on the Mayor’s glass door. A loud buzz of anticipation rose from the crowds below.

Then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. The glass door opened, Trumpery stood in the opening, a few seconds later the sun appeared precisely at the distant south end of the street, a great shaft of light seemed to shoot along the dark canyon and illuminate our great leader. My shot followed the light, seconds later. Trumpery was ready for the choreographed adulation of the masses but instead stood for seconds looking down at the great crimson flower of death blooming on his white jacket. Then he stumbled and toppled over the low ledge to land ten levels below. A great cry rose from the crowds, 'Freedom', and they surged forward.

* Trumpery - delusive, shallow or showy but worthless (Oxford English Dictionary)

Reviews

[Cyd]

“a stranger come” Maybe I’m just Swedish but come feels wrong to me.

At first it made me want to talk about dreams and the effect they can have on the mind, then I started to think of John Carpenters “They Live”. Feels like this is just right for the times, so relevant and scary. Feels like there’s a longer story there, a man gets a message to kill a politician but we don’t know who’s behind it or if our MC is sane or not… but there’s a tiny bird in my head that says there’s already a book like that, possibly by Stephen King.

Also, bless you for using big fonts :D

[alanwgraham]

Thanks again Cyd. That first section is meant to be a free poem with stranger at the end of one line and come at the start of the next. It might have formatted differently on your device. Again this is a story that evolved as I wrote it. I don't know if there is a similar book but is there anything new under the sun?
Cheers,
Alan

[Kaliope]

This is a great story Alan, captivating from start to finish. I get a strong "Matrix" vibe from the dream sequence, the computer interaction and the watchers, which is always a positive. The only thing that I'm not entirely sure about is the ending. Since this story borrows a few themes from our current reality, I couldn't really see the crowd cheering at the assassination of its leader, at least not in public. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the read and applaud your clever use of "trumpery".

[alanwgraham]

Thanks for looking at this Kali
For the ending I had in mind a dictator ruling by fear and I am old enough to remember the fall of Ceauscecu in Romania where he appeared on a balcony in front of huge crouds expecting adulation but when a few brave people shouted protests the mood changed and he had to flee before being caught and then executed. You are correct in your comment though as this doesn't happen too often.
regards,
Alan

[Duncan Brown]

Look look look look look look.............

[alanwgraham]

The watchers the watchers

[KTizzle]

Soo I thought it was interesting. It held my attention. I loved the structure transition from poetry to prose. I thought because of the abruptness of the dream, it worked well to give short, chopped sentences to capture that feeling. Also poetry can be romantic and dreamesque so I thought that form was appropriate. I liked the transition into prose because prose is more grounded and structured, therefore a good representation of reality.

I also loved the lanugage, particuarly the symbolism of north as north is often associated with death. It made me think of When the Lilacs Last in Dooryard Bloom'd.

I thought the name "trumpery" was definitely fitting and made me think of how Trump is delusive and shallow.

Any critiques I think have already been pointed out.

Thanks for posting! Have a great day!

[alanwgraham]

Thanks JaZZ lover. Some stories seem to write themselves once you get started and sometimes as I'm writing I feel like I'm watching a movie. By the way I am a 'jazz lover'!
Cheers,
Alan

[KTizzle]

what no way! Who do you like?

[alanwgraham]

My favourites are mccoy tyner and the current wayne shorter quartet - I can listen to them endlessly. Totally unpredictable and there always seems to be something new to discover.
I also entertain myself by playing the sax - badly.
Cheers,
Alan

[KTizzle]

Oh wow! How long have you been playing the sax?

I know. My jazz interests are all over the place too from Latin to smooth, mostly old stuff. I mostly love jazz singers though like Norah Jones and Melody Gardot.

[alanwgraham]

Great! I've been playing the sax for 15 years now. I also like the old jazz standards like summertime and Ella Fitzgerald is my favourite singer. I will check out more of your writing. Am currently working on a few ideas but Xmas stuff taking over.
Cheers.
Alan

[KTizzle]

How did you get into playing Sax?

OMG! I love Ella and Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole

Aw thanks! What are your plans for Xmas?

[Ellie Venice]

The story got me hooked onto it from the very beginning. It kept my interest throughout and is made very well. The details consistently made me want to finish it. Plus, I have another word to add to my vocabulary.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks. My first name was chump which wasn't quite right.
Alan

[Aly]

This story kept my interest. Very creatively done! I really liked the part that said, "In the evening the rifle was delivered - I received it like an old lover, reaquainted myself with it's intimate parts!" Great usage of the word Trumpery! Good work.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks aly. This turned out to be quite complicated but I enjoyed writing it. Had some great feedback which allowed me to make improvements.
Thanks,
Alan

[barleygirl]

First, I apologize for not being able to grasp your plentiful references, double-meanings, & implications. I didn't even notice the name "Trumpery" until I got to the end where you defined it. Then my head exploded becuz I'd been thinking all during the reading that many aspects of your piece sound rather "Trump-esque" . . . but not wanting to interpret everything these days thru that warped lens. Let it suffice to say that your mind is many times more multi-layered than mine . . . I could never hold this many trains of thought at the same time. But I do recognize enuf to know there are many spots of brilliance shining here. I admire your complex journey thru poetry, prose, huff post & more . . . but I'm most entranced by the word "Trumpery" which simply HAS to be written about more specifically, which I might do soon if you don't mind. Your Trumpery here is just about as full-blown as that which the US is suffering under the spell of for the past 18 months! *eeeek!* Thanks for the smile & inspiration.

[barleygirl]

I just posted my new poem: "Trumpery" . . . excellent inspiration, thank you very much!

[alanwgraham]

Thanks m. I'd love to say I had all this worked out in my head before but I suppose, like most writing it was a muddle through with some flashes of inspiration and some great suggestions from gerald parker. My original idea for that unspeakable T word was chump but when i read it to my group they all laughed - not the desires response. As soon as I spotted trumpery in the dick-tionary I knew it was perfect.
Cheers,
Alan

[Ted Kniffen]

Well Alan, very well done. I liked the whole bit. Good plot, well thought out, kept my interest. In this day and age we are all victims of the Watchers. Not a move can be made without someone's knowledge. A good, spooky, short story. In the final paragraph Trumpery has become Thumpery, ??

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Ted. This one started off as not much and then grew arms and legs. Also with a lot of help from the cafe. Yes I had noticed the final thump and I thought I had corrected it but thanks.
All the best,
Alan

[Gerald Parker]

An interesting story.

Apologies for nit-picking but I have a number of quibbles.

If Chump was 10 levels up, how were you able to see his table? You do not say he was behind a huge plate glass window which extends down to floor level.

I found there was a problem with the layout or formatting in the first five sections - gave the appearance of free verse. Intentional.

I also noted at the the start that some sentences did not start with a capital letter.

You mention the rooms having black shades in paragraph 7 - how were you able to see the Watchers who also had black shades? If the black shades on the windows were down you wouldn't be able to see them.

The confusion between a dream and reality and whether reality is a dream or a dream of a dream is definitely confusing, leaving me to wonder if the assassination actually took place. Perhaps that was your intention.

Minor point: I'm not sure why you have used the word 'elevator' rather than 'lift.'

Mentioning confusion, the idea that the reader is being told he/she will receive a weapon and shoot Chump (Trump) melding into the first person who does the deed doesn't work for me.

I don't mind the portrayal of secret agents on a mission but I don't go along with them being so easily identifiable, doing lots of 'striding', and having an spooky name - as bad as 'spooks' itself.

Another quibble, why would a Watcher reveal his/her identity in a story and tell the reader about the assassination plan and, riskier still, let everyone know that the reader is going to be the assassin? As there are Watchers everywhere including those watching the Watchers, how can anyone be certain that a Chump agent doesn't find out and pre-empt the assassination?

Another quibble: why would the person who carries out (or not) the assassination tell us in a story which is out there for all to read and which he/she has written about dream sequences, Watchers, weapons and supply details of the actual killing? Surely he/she risks discovery arrest and trial? I'm assuming that the last persona in the story is the one has written the whole story.

I have probably misunderstood your piece but this is how it came across to me. Thanks for inviting me to look at your story.

Cheers, Gerald.

[alanwgraham]

Firstly, thanks Gerald for taking the time to read this and giving me the benefit of your experience to write this detailed crit of my story. My writing of this was a bit of a hotch potch - it started with a part of a dream I had and then continued with thoughts about our experiences of reality and then I got stuck before building it into this story. Fairly typical for me! You have made lots of good points that I hadn't picked up on and I will have a serious reconsider. I will clarify the desciption of the window. The first sections describe the dream and I decided to write this in a free verse style to differentiate it from the waking part. My plan had been to have this all in lower case for the same reason. My intention had been to set this in some non defined American city and chose appropriate words such as sidewalk, elevator, shades (for sunglases) but confused matters by also using 'shades' to describe the blinds on the windows - I'll change this to 'black drapes'. In para 7 he is able to see the Watchers on the sidewalks but it is their rooms with the black drapes he can see (not inside). I realised I had put in far too much about the dream/reality issue - I'll need to cut this down and clarify. I did definitely mean for the assassination to be real. Your final observations are all very valid and i will have to consider them carefully. I do think that in a very authoritarian state part of the fear is that the 'Watchers/Stazi' are everywhere and visible. I'm not sure that I agree with your point about my subject risking arrest in telling the story. I am just telling a story and using the main character to tell what happened. Just as a matter of interest I read this out at my writing group tonight and the point that they all focussed on was the use of the name 'Chump'. They thought it was too comical and I agree - I just couldn't resist the play on 'Trump'.
Thanks again gerald for your very useful comments. I will read another of your stories ASAP!
Regards, Alan

[Gerald Parker]

Hi Alan, I'm pleased I was able to provide some helpful observations. I look forward to reading the amended version. One of the most difficult aspects of your story is how to make the dream section stand alone so it doesn't confuse the reader. Also is the dream necessary? Could your account work without it?

When you have time, could you have a look at my poem called "Pointless Connections'?" It's the first one I've written for a whole year. The whole process leading to constructing it was fascinating, to me, that is. It's not straight forward and I need to test it out to find out if it makes sense.

Regards, Gerald.

[Gerald Parker]

Oh, I forgot to add that "Pointless Connections" is a follow-up to "Disused Quarry" written over 20 years ago, also on this site, and published in a UK poetry magazine. G

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Gerald. I have some time today that i will use to rework my story. Hopefully
I will also get to read your work.
Cheers,
Alan

[Gerald Parker]

Much clearer now, Alan! Gerald