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The Marked Man

I'm there at the corner, sitting in a shadow.

By Noah LloydPublished 4 years ago 3 min read
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In the dark corner, I sit, looking out at the world’s inhabitants with one eye open. If only it were so simple as to go out among the people and cherish the ever-fleeting glimpse we perishable souls have of life, but nothing is ever as simple as we pretend it to be. Sooner or later, it all succumbs to something. The flood will rise and fire will drop from the sky. It’s coming, I know it. And so I sit and wait to stand up from this chair and commit my inevitable deeds when the time comes.

You may not see me as I am, that is if your eyes are clogged by the thoughtless faith of pure vision. To you, I am but another passerby on a sidewalk, an unnamed occupant in an establishment. I move, I talk, I participate in the squabbles of a man’s life. All the while, I maintain my true nature that is always so elusive to the naked eye, out of sight as the back of one’s head in the reflection of a single mirror.

I’ve pledged allegiance to an unthinkable force. I am a sleeper agent, obedient to a cult that has no name, no single form of initiation, and no goal that could be articulated with any tongue on Earth. My obedience is to this organization, which is unseeable yet everywhere. Even on the surface of my consciousness, I cannot see this binding mark, but it is there in the depths of my thoughts and feelings in an ever-present existence. When the call comes, however, my mark will be visible to all, even the most ignorant.

But for now, I sit back and wait. Come, take a seat beside me and get a chat going. You will learn of my legal name, my occupation, the heritage of my flesh, the location of my abode, but you will never know of my mark. Some can see it, though they do not know precisely what it is that they see. The possessors of the most innocent eyes, an innocence that is so pure it collapses back in on itself and becomes like that of the most enlightened, they can spot my mark and give me a chilling stare. The very second they take a glimpse at me, some alarm in their mind rings. I can see it in their eyes; they know who I am.

But even when such people recognize me, what can they say? None of them stand up on a table and announce to everyone that a man such as I have invaded their space, for the rest will take one look at me and determine that the enlightened announcer is nothing but a trouble-making fool. And so, I remain as I am: hidden. Try again, dear one, when the call comes, and it is time for me to reveal my mark. Only then will they realize how right you were.

In the meantime, I must go about my business, I must play my part in the social game and put on a character which is only a fictional manifestation. Nobody has found out yet that I have been reading from a script. Nobody has had the wisdom to see past the veil of my feigned humanness. Nobody has yet to call me out and expose this mark. My real purpose in life, this meaning which has been granted to me by powers unknown in the bottomless abyss, will be safely locked away unless unleashed by my will or the will of another.

Until then, I am one of you.

psychological
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