Alpaca Dave

I'm not quite sure what goes on inside my head.

I’m walking along, as I tend to do, minding my own business, maybe even whistling. I don’t know – my mind is elsewhere right now.

My mind is everywhere right now.

Y’know that feeling that you’re being watched?

You’re a kid again, marching through the forest but trying to muffle your march (if such a thing can be done) so that they don’t hear you. You have no real idea who they are, but you know that something is out there. And then, suddenly, you realize that the pit-pat of your boots don’t matter, or the swift snapping of a dry twig that threatens to send you into cardiac arrest. Oh no, you have a terrifying epiphany: they can see you already.

And with that you’re running scared.

Now you find yourself a bit older, though arguably none the wiser. Muddy sneakers have been traded for scuffed leather shoes, the scraped knees covered in a wrinkled suit. No longer are you surrounded by trees. Now you are surrounded by a jungle of a different sort, a concrete sort.

They’re still in it, though.

Maybe a different they; maybe the ones from your childhood became tired of spying on you each and every moment of your life. Maybe these are city theys, and these theys don’t fraternize with their country cousins, so to speak. Maybe they don’t know why you were so important to the first ones.

But maybe they do. After all, they are watching.

And so my mind re-finds myself: here.

 I live under the constant watch of them. Why? Obviously I am important to them for some reason or another. Obviously I was set apart at birth if they have been following me ever since I can remember. Who am I?

I am Alpaca Dave, and I hold the attention of each and every one of them.

The End

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