Night Watch

by James Rose

He is old, perhaps too old, to be a security guard. His family and friends don’t know why he continues to do it. Every other night, he drives out to the industrial park and takes up his place at the security gate, torch at his side, panic button just above his right knee; his book, flask of tea and sandwiches in a carrier bag tucked underneath his chair. But he rarely reads. Instead, he sits sipping his tea, observing the soft and subtle changes in colour as the day slowly fades into night and then, in the long dark hours before birdsong, watches out for the fox that searches amongst the litter, the rabbits that feed on the grass verge, the badger that ambles back and forth across the concrete, the owl that circles the perimeter of the building. It is in these insignificant moments of nature that he reminds himself of why he still does this job—to see what the sleeper will never see.

6S

James Rose cannot see in the dark, but he likes to write about what he thinks may be in there.