Street down below.

Everyday as from 6pm, he stood by his bedroom’s window to see what monstrosity humans will do to other humans on the street down below. What does the devil has up his sleeve today? That is, if the devil exists. Coz isn’t it funny that evil people refuse to acknowledge the existence of a God but believe of a devil? Even funnier to him, and that he still utterly doesn’t believe, is that them evil people say the devil made them do it. After all, evil is in the name of the guy. But he doesn’t buy a word of it.

When he was younger, he would ask his parents why humans do such things and all they ever answered was “You can’t understand it now, son. It’s hard to explain how humans find pleasure in causing others pain.” And he grew tired of asking, coz even though he was a young boy, he knew there was more to the cruelty he witnessed every single day. And it must not have been that hard to explain; his parents just didn’t want to tell him the brutal truth coz he was still a child. What they might have not known is that exposure to such brutal scenes causes one to not have a child’s mind from a very early age. And that’s exactly what happened to him.

Fast forward he grew to a silent, deeply thoughtful young man. He protected those of his own, and evaded violence whenever he could. He knew that didn’t make him weak, but wise in saving your own life over a little show of strength. He must have grown up listening to Kenny Rogers’ Coward of the County. Great song.

He also often used to wonder, why they lived in such a surprisingly unsafe neighborhood. But he quickly realized their apartment was well protected with gated walls and four security guards manning the four walls. German shepherds walked with all the kids within the walls and were well fed on high quality imported meat. Nobody would touch them, at least not the low-lifes he saw down the street. His room was well up the 7-storey apartment and he’d see everything; from the inhumane things done down the street to his disconnected family of five. They rarely spoke to each other, and he found a bit of solitude in people watching out his window.

He wondered how middle class they were as a family, but coz of where they lived his parents convinced him they were rich, and forced him to despise the community below. They’d rarely buy anything from the shops below, apart from him, coz he wanted to feel a part of his neighborhood. Everytime they went out in their spacious Chevrolet, they would speed back into their compound - no chance whatsoever of catching a glimpse of the town’s people. His parents were scared of the people, and he knew it. He just didn’t want to make them feel bad. He knew everything that went on in the little town, but his parents thought they had shielded him from the vices of the town. That’s what happens to disconnected families, one kid has to be his own explorer. In this case, he explored the crime down his house.

On one night, he witnessed a young woman collapse to the ground in the middle of the not-so-busy centre, her sobs audible even from his shadowed corner by the window. A man crouched over her, his hands gripping her wrists as she tried to pull away. The bystanders in the vicinity turned toward the scene, but instead of intervening, their phones glowed in the dim light, recording her cries. The man whispered harshly into her ear, his face shielded from the cameras by a hood, while the crowd exchanged smirks and hashtags behind their cowardly screens, angling for better shots to post online.

Yet another night, he witnessed two figures in a heated argument outside the popular but dimly lit bar down the street. Their voices were sharp and brittle, carrying across the cold street. Without warning, one of them lunged forward, a flash of metal catching the streetlight before plunging into the other's side. The victim staggered, clutching his torso as dark blood pooled between his fingers. A woman nearby screamed, but the others who were entering the bar quickly adjusted their phones for a shot, narrating the unfolding scene like news anchors for their followers.

The use of phones bothered him, coz he had seen his older sisters so obsessed with their phones that they grew deaf ears to their parents and the world around them. He once choked on his food at the dining table, but they were so glued to their screens only the father noticed and saved him. Since then, he had lost all hopes of her elder siblings, or anyone for that matter, to save him. He instead realized he was the one to save them from not only their obsession with media but from themselves too.

One night, when he was busy on his laptop trying to beat an assignment deadline, the screeching of a vehicle caught his attention out the window. He witnessed a child being pulled into a van just outside the grocery store he buys bread from. The child’s small frame thrashed, muffled cries barely cutting through the air as the van door slammed shut. A man on a bench across the street, scrolling through his social media feed, noticed the struggle but stood up and slowly walked backwards and inwards towards his empty barbershop . He wouldn’t dare confront the kidnappers, after all that wasn’t his child and he couldn’t leave his shop unattended. Of course, other witnesses nearby peered over their screens, documenting the van as it sped off, their captions already forming: "Ogopa Gotham!" 

On his last night before leaving the country for overseas college, he witnessed a man step into the center of the crowded market, his hand trembling as he raised a black object. A single deafening crack echoed through the air, and people screamed, scattering in all directions. Who robs a marketplace? He wondered. Yet amidst the chaos, he didn’t flinch. Not even at the sound of the gunshot. He had heard so many of them growing up, that only his eyes tweaked and his fists clenched in fury.

Each time though, he wondered how the world had fallen so far—how the allure of virtual clout had surpassed the basic human instinct to help. As the crimes unfolded before his eyes, he couldn’t tell which was worse: the violence itself, or the silent spectators who refused to act, transfixed by the glow of their screens. As he aged, it got clearer and clearer in his mind what was society’s exact wrongs and sins.

✍🏽Reagan.