AFCOS - VICTOR (hustle's thread)

Comments and notes on Victor by Hustle.

= A morning. Any morning. It does not matter. We see them all, unblinking. =

0700 - Dawn's Reflection

Movement. Not a change of position or restless stir, but actual movement. The night has been dark, and the morning bright. This new movement means excitement, but it also means anxiety. For while I get some brief respite on the heels of several dark hours, in just a few moments, he'll be gone, and I'll spend another day looking at an empty bed, or a spinning fan. Perhaps he'll leave the bedroom door open, and she will entertain me occasionally throughout the day.

He rises, sitting up now. He wipes his face, scratches his beard, and rubs his eyes. It's a routine repeated each day with very little change, but it is one of a few moments in an otherwise bleak existence that excites me. His brown hair falls in waves across his face, the locks moving slightly with heavy breaths. Perhaps he speaks, or yawns, or even sings. I do not know, because I do not hear.

I only watch.

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0718 - Devoured Replication

Later today, though not by much. Maybe a few minutes or so. I can usually tell by the numbers on the stove, but they cut out last night, leaving me in absolute darkness. When they returned, it was all wrong. As if I would miss half a day's time. I do not blink.

He notices, too. He presses a series of buttons, and the numbers read 0718. That sounds about right, though I fear he may be off by one. No matter. He grabs his coffee and stares right at me, drinking slowly. He peers into my very soul with hazel eyes, though he almost never speaks. Not that I'd hear him if he did. Sometimes, he shows me his teeth. Other times, he simply stares. I once saw him cry. But always, almost always, I'll watch him make a meal and give some to her. She loves him. So dearly she does. I often see her when he's not here, sitting by the window, or sometimes lying down. Perhaps she is sad. Perhaps she cries. I would not know, because I do not hear.

I only watch.

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0750 - The Pane of Preservation

Like clockwork, every morning. His appearance, anyway. He shows up and begins the routine. I was confused the first few times, though I quickly realized his intent. His malice. His unbridled and unprovoked hatred. For me. Why? I've never spoken to him. Perhaps that's the problem.

He begins. He begins by setting down a pair of jeans, or sometimes slacks. Rarely slacks. Then a shirt that hangs in plain view, next to a towel. The water runs, and I begin suffocating. I watch, and sometimes he stares back at me, until I am entirely drowned out. Completely and utterly senseless, my one sense clouded by his uncaring routine.

But I may be wrong. He may care. For each day, without fail, he gives me relief. It may take several minutes for me to see entirely, but he provides at least a small hole through which to see him. To watch him complete the routine. He rubs something in his hair; what, I do not know, but most days he looks happier after. I only know that eventually, he will leave, and I will continue staring, waiting for him to return. But even then, I don't always see him. Perhaps he calls out to tell me I won't be seeing him. I do not know, because I do not hear.

I only watch.

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0815 - Exodus Witnessed

Oh, I do hope he has an umbrella today. It looks like rain. It's looked like rain all morning, and I just know he'll be through any moment, flinging me wide into the expanse, giving me but a moment to see the street, and just as fast, he'll replace me, giving me one last knowing look. He always does. He's caring like that.

By now he will have awoken, finished a meal, dressed himself, and gathered his effects. At any moment, he'll be here to ensure me that he cares. That he will see me again. Oh, perhaps he'll bring her today. What a treat! I do hope he brings her with him. She is my favorite, perhaps more so than he. She stares with eyes of pure wonder, and it's wonderful.

And there it is. I swing quickly, and the street floods my vision. I was right, that is a rain cloud. Before I can take in the depth of its terror, I'm placed back. He is alone. She is not with him. He also looks unhappy. Perhaps crying, even. Sobbing. I would not know, for I do not hear.

I only watch.