The Little Archerboy

Between all my years of being a pacific observer of the human race I had never witnessed such an enigmatic young boy. I usually limit myself to watching people, watching those I'm not familiar with. I go to a market some distance away, position myself between one fruit stand and another and observe. It's really quite fascinating what one can see, like how the old lady complains about the freshness of some mangoes, how the vendors get people to buy in their stands instead of others, and how little children run around unfazed by the noisy place that is the market.
As one could probably have guessed, in my room there is a window, two of them actually. There is no better invention for watching unfamiliar people from the comfort of one's home than the window. (Also, this does not qualify as stalking. . . just thought I'd let you know.)
Thus, in those few and far in between odd occations in which I turn my attention away from electric devices, I enjoy taking a peek at my window. I bet you're not wondering what my window looks out into, but I'll reveal so anyway. It depicts a lovely, somewhat wild, garden. It has trees here and there, a road in the middle, and different shrubs and plants of diverse shapes and colors.

So here I was one day, and I decided to observe, to look out into the world (because, mind you, we have quite the amazing world). I saw something I had definitely not foreseen. A boy was in the middle of the road, taking aim at the trees with a real bow. . . y'know, the kind that shoots sharp, kill-you-on-contact arrows.
Strangely, I felt more awed than threatened by this presumed middle schooler. Aside from the safety hazzards that carrying a real, deadly, shooting weapon that does not look like a toy (it looked very professional, as a matter of fact) brings along, I was fascinated by this little archer. His precision was a little off but I did not see any "Death by Arrows" headline on the newspaper the next day. He was aiming for treetrunks and usually hit them.
Do you want to know why excited me more? The fact that this little archer was not only just shooting along as he walked to/from his house. He was using the garden next to my house as a training ground of sorts. Phenomenal!
After shooting his 5 or so arrows about 50 times, the little archer presumably went home and I was left to clean the drool from my hanging lower jaw. I saw a boy playing archer, thought it incredible, but he was gone, it was over and life goes on.


...or so I thought. Although life indeed does go on, the little archer was not gone. I'm not sure how much time later I saw him, but there he was again. Outside my window, taking aim with one eye shut (the other, of course, open) and actually shooting potential life-enders. I was impressed again. Again, I stood by my window, with my body hidden in my room, and with my head tilted towards the window the tiniest bit to be able to peep at the archer.
Now, I only possess the romantic idea of archery, as in that of heroes and the middle ages and Zelda. But I saw the boy's display of skill (and lack of common sense) as glorious. This activity, which I presume is his favored one, he is passionate about. It looks so simple too. Place the arrow, string the bow, shut the eye, aim for the tree, release the arrow. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release. Place, string, shut, aim, release.
Place, string, shut, aim, release. And the fact that he is not completely absorbed by such simplicity leaves me astounded. Life is not simple, life is anything but simple. Not even the little metaphorical LEGO blocks that build up life are simple. But he clearly makes his activity simple. And I'm left pondering whether or not we're a species that could handle simple. As Confucius once said, "Life is simple, but men insist on making it complicated." And here's the little archer making everything seem simple in just a small movement of his arm. Maybe. . . perhaps, he is one of those few lucky enough to be able to thrive on simplicity. Maybe it does not bother him. Maybe he is one step closer to becoming a full-fledged Nietzche superman.

The little archerboy comes and goes without a specific schedule. Doing what I've seen as his best: place, string, shut, aim, release. Every time I hear his shooting outside, I stand by my window and observe, trying to hide my observant self from this artist in his own right.
Yet, he has already seen me. He's already been smart enough, or felt stalked enough, to turn toward my window and look at me. Twice or thrice already. Eye to eye contact. From archer to observer.
He wasn't bothered. Rather, he might've taken it as a gesture of admiration. I don't know. Still, while he was able to go on with the knowledge of my observation, I am positively held back. The little archerboy can live with eyes on him, but the observer that is me cannot bear to be known as one. It breaks the charm, the hexes of the observation. From feeling enthusiastic about the little archer, I've grown cautious. From feeling strong while watching the boy shot arrow after arrow, I know I'll grow weak if he was ever to see me seeing him. It's an unhealthy burglary of strength, of stamina. I grow and learn and wonder as I watch him, as I watch anything; however, I would not let anyone else do the same to me.

My window will stand strong, the garden will grow greener and I sit in my house waiting to hear the familiar buzzing of arrows outside my window. I hope to see The Little Archerboy fevercently every day, yet my more intimate self prays for the boy not to see me back.
It's too much to bear.

Without further ado,

and not much to do

The Taleteller