Walking to the past

Eyes everywhere. They’re always watching me. Wherever I go I can see them, and they can see me. I am never alone anymore. Not like it used to be. A man used to be able to walk where he wanted without fear of being constantly watched. But now, there is no privacy. Why do they need to watch me? What am I to them? I’m just an old man. I don’t mean any harm to anyone. Yet I’m being followed around as if I shot a man last week.
Everything moves so fast now. The world has grown up quicker than I can keep up with. But there is one place in this modern city that I can keep up with. I walk down to my piece of tranquillity and memories everyday. It gives me something to do. It takes me back to a better time, a time without as many cares. Just the sound makes me smile. Makes me remember what life used to be like.
As I walk down those nine sacred steps to tranquillity, out of sight of the eyes in the sky. I feel alive once again. I feel rejuvenated. Like the man I was before all this technology came along to rule and govern how we live our lives. I walk to this spot everyday, through the glaring eyes, past all the death machines and down to the past. The past that brought me so much happiness and joy.
When I arrive, I sit down on the same bench I always sit on. I think I’m the only one who uses this bench for what it was designed for. Everybody else uses it as a canvas for their graffiti. It looks like an eyesore to me. They call it “art”. Art used to be wanted, art used to be something people would pay hundreds and thousands of pounds to get their hands on. To my mind art is not something that is thrown into everybody’s face without their permission. Maybe that’s just another sign that the world is moving on without me.
Perhaps I’m too old for the new modern world of today. Even the place I call my own is not mine anymore. At least it is quiet down here and at least I’m not being watched. Soon this will change and change forever. I don’t think I could stand seeing my little piece of the past being modernised like the rest of my once beloved city. Once the noise and the eyes move down to where I love, I will end it all. Or maybe I should end it all before all that happens. Maybe I should end my life with a little bit of joy left in my heart.

Chris Thurmott, DMU