Polished

            They had told me that this one was different. I didn’t quite understand how different she was until I started watching her, myself.  The sky changed according to her nail polish, for one.  That was an interesting correlation to find out. I wound up being glad that she wasn’t 8 years old, for more reasons than one.  Had she been a little girl, there would have been odd sparkles, colors, designs in her nails, and I don’t think I want to know how that would have affected things.  Tailing her was hard enough as she was, especially when she broke out the metallic polish.

            It was my job to watch her, though.  Watch, and report. Never interfere or interact, that was the main rule they pounded into your head from day 1.  Hell, I didn’t even know why she was important.  Sure, she’s different, but different and important are rarely the same thing, other than the fact that people are different when they are important.  If celebrities take a shit in a McDonalds, people want to know about it. If I take a shit in a McDonalds, no one wants to know about it. 

            Still, maybe she was important.  People seemed to flock to her, to make sure that she knew they were there, as though she’d be making a daily report of their attendance and observance of her arrival.  She didn’t seem like the type of person that would be that way, but you never know.  The sky kept changing, her hair kept changing, sometimes I wasn’t even sure if I was following the right person.  She always showed a peculiarity or two that proved her identity to me, though.  There are only a chosen few for which the lights are never red, doors never locked, and who seem to emit some sort of light.  I’m surprised more people weren’t confused by this light, but maybe I’m the only one that truly noticed it.  I can’t exactly survey the people she saw on a daily basis, they would have asked her about me.  That would have ruined everything. I can’t find another job, I’ve been training for this one for years.  I couldn’t live with myself if I wound up working at Wal-Mart or some other low-life collection bin. 

            I had to wonder, though.  Were the tales true? Was this one really who we would wind up belonging to?  She hadn’t learned to exhibit her consciousness on anyone else at this point, if she is who they told me she was.  Time travel is a bitch like that. Knowing who someone will be doesn’t make it much easier to find who they were, before they are. If that makes any sense, I’ll be happy.

            I can’t shake the feeling like this is straight out of some movie.  I feel like I’ve seen this before, and in a way I have, but still, what am I supposed to say?  And how do I exit the stage when my part is through?