Passers-by

Eddie stood on the opposite side of the street.

This was as close to it as he desired to be, thank you very much.  Everyone else could carry on wandering up to it in their blissful ignornace, but no way was he going over there.

And they did.

Carry on, that is.

A constant flow of human traffic, walking to and fro, passing the fence as if it were nothing more than your average boundry.  Normal everyday people, going about their normal everyday business, in the shadow of a decidely abnormal structure.

Why didn't they feel it?

They must do to some degree, on a subconscious level maybe, because every one of them does something a little out-of-sync once they reach the edge of that shadow.  Some quicken their step, some walk a small arc past the fence, some stop momentarily, as if remembering something they have forgotten.  But whatever sensation it is that they feel, it is not enough to disrupt their journey for more than a split second.

And so the throngs keep moving.  Feet continue to pound the pavement; and nobody seems to notice that, for that briefest amount of time, everything shifts slightly.  Conversation trails off, children cease to laugh or cry, dogs stifle their barks. 

In the shadow of the fence is a tiny pocket of silence, that encompasses everything and everyone that passes though it.

Eddie has only been inside that shadow once, and the second his feet had innocently crossed the threshold he had felt it.  Something akin to the sensation you get when an aeroplane lifs off.  You feel the pressure in the air around you, your stomach turns and your ears pop.  In that instant he had known that something was wrong, and when he looked around to get his bearings, he suddenly remembered all the other times that his feet had taken him around that shadow of their own accord.  Somehow, he was immune to the glamour that kept everyone else fooled into thinking that this was just a fence.

Just a fence.

Nothing more.

All of those people, passing in and out of its shadow, went untouched in their concious awareness by any sense of foreboding.  They just didn't see.

But Eddie had seen.

The ball.

And the man that followed.

The End

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