People 10 : The Look-out.

A run down shack on a busy highway. A road in a constant spate of traffic.

Homes and residences, smoky images on black and white memories.

Flash forward: Office buildings, enterprises, bus stands, traffic signals, policemen, petrol bunks, politician’s statues, posters, billboards, big city lights. Accidents, ambulances, trauma care, lives lost, livelihood earned.

A dark shanty. Broken panes. Peeling paint. Moldy well. Littered lawn. Creaky gates.

He sits. Atop the compound wall. A small slab on the gate post. Legs crossed. Arms hugging his lanky body. Rocking himself back and forth. Beams from headlights, cast an eerie halo. A smile, running parallel to the lines on his face.

Is he a mad man? Why is he seated here? Who is he smiling at?

Is he the watch man of the shack? Why doesn’t he have a chair to sit on?

Why isn’t anyone else noticing him? Is he really there? Is it a Ghoul? Having a night out of the graves?