The Night Watchman

Warning: Author is dweeb academic type who does not normally do “creative writing.” She apologizes in advance for any tedium. Thanks Mr. Meat, this is great.

I don’t sleep. Even when I was a kid I was up at three in the morning staring at the ceiling. During the summer I stayed with my grandparents on an isolated farm in the Western Nebraska scrub. My grandmother didn’t sleep either. We would lay on her bed in the still hours and she would read the comics to me while my grandfather slept in the recliner he passed out in at eight o’clock.

I went to graduate school to study the economics but instead ended up specializing in crazy right-wing extremist and conspiracy groups. Now at night I slip into their world. I read their whispers about the spreading shadow that is consuming the forces of good. I read about their plan to survive and resist in dangerous times. In dark times.

Sometimes I follow individuals in their digital trek across their paranoid world. A small clue here and there lead to a name, to a place, to a life. The data is meticulously collected and organized. But sometimes a link leads to an unforeseen context for the insanity. A newspaper report of a domestic violence call, a bankruptcy notice, an obituary of a family member. The search is stopped. The files deleted and the history is cleared. Some secrets are best left in the night.

* Note, I am not nearly as goth as this makes me sound.


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