He takes the notebook from his pocket,
Puts his back against a sturdy tree,
Turns a few pages,
And watches people with observant eyes,
Pen in hand,
He writes what he sees.
In the shade, wearing a hoodie and some jeans,
Blonde hair escapes his hood,
He quickly stuffs his hair back,
No one notice that he watches them all,
What they do in the park,
Like taking notes of lab rats,
Don’t you agree?
His pen scribbles blue ink
On the parchment of lined-paper.
The people run and laugh and enjoy,
He writes about the girls and the boys,
The women and the men,
The aged and the young,
But not for too long,
Until he has the information he needs,
Then he decides to leave.
Walk across the grass
And onto the concrete floor,
He goes to see the ice cream man
About the plan.
He whispers into the ice cream vendor’s ears,
To make someone disappear.
“The one with the red coat, the boy,” he says,
The vendor merely nods his head.
The blonde man walks off with his notebook tucked back into his jeans,
No one ever saw the conversation,
No one ever saw the blonde haired man,
No one ever saw the red-coat boy again
Unless the boy’s parents paid the ransom full
Or he was dead.
The parents paid,
Their boy was saved,
But the process would happen again
To other little boys and girls
That the blonde haired man would watch.
Sometimes they would be saved,
And sometimes not.
But he didn’t mind,
Since he was making money from every other ransom,
And he didn’t do just one a day either,
Seven boys or girls kidnapped in a single afternoon,
And give the parents a call,
Hear their sobs and cries over the telephone static,
But he didn’t care.
He didn’t care because he used to be one of these same girls and boys,
This blonde man had a heart of stone because of what had happened to him before,
His past is dark, his past is secret,
No one knows, no one asks,
All the others know that it happened,
That’s why he was here,
Writing the notebooks and notebooks of names,
Thoughts of possible ransoms,
In that tiny little notebook,
But no one ever noticed,
How much he was watching their families,
They just thought he was at the park,
Or on the subway,
Or in the school,
Or in the mall,
Writing something that they wouldn’t, that they didn’t, care about.
Are you ever paranoid and feel like you're being watched? Where and when? Has there ever been a time when your paranoia has actually saved you from something or someone?