MY NAME IS SIMON CROSS

For many centuries I have walked through this same street, treading slowly on the smooth pathway amidst passersby whose different white faces remain blunt and unchanged each time I pass through walkways beside the tarmac roads which used to be road for horses and carriages built by men centuries ago to transport themselves to unknown destinations within and outside the city. The outlook of every passerby I had come across with on the open streets of Greaves city , have always remain the same except for their fashionable clothes which had dynamically transformed, as society develops, into loose pants and shirts for the most guys while the most ladies clad themselves with pretty skirts and blouse in accordance with the present reality which I have found myself in, and the erected tarmac as well which have also replaced those wretched roads including bush pathways as a result of the constant transformation of human civilization into the modern era where guns and skyscrapers have replaced the primitive weapons and most of the wooden houses in the urban areas of this city. Time had kept man in constant change as well as the environment which surrounds me and have inevitably erected a tall skyscraper which stood very tall in the middle of other smaller apartments situated a mile away from me where I gently force my way through a crowd of passersby on the rowdy street filled with different people hurrying to unknown places, probably their place of work or the subway tunnel located at Clymond street, a short distance away from where the coffee shop rested tightly between two tall buildings whose owner was finding it difficult to open his shop with a broken key after wriggling the keyhole with coercion which initially caused the breakage of his last spare key and didn quite pay attention to those walking past him including myself. A lot of things around have changed even though I didn leave the city for any vacation of some sort except for frequent field services in the barracks during times of war where I actually worked as a volunteered surgeon with the general purpose to save lives of injured soldiers who partook in the war but I had joined the service with a hidden agenda which have been my secret work all these years ever since I met someone who changed my life drastically.

Although I have lived for twelve centuries, Ive been careful enough not to allow the changes which occurred in the society to affect my secret endeavors in any way possible, which I have struggled to achieve successfully regardless of unforeseen inevitable circumstances that tend to occur in the course of carrying out my despicable work without the knowledge of humans especially my colleagues whom I work with at my current job in the hospital presently and those I had worked with in time past. Even the unavoidable tendency to age quickly from childhood to adulthood before death will occur, haven affected my physiques and the perennial lifespan of my frail flesh in any way as well as my handsome white face which have withstood the blazing sunlight for twelve centuries, and haven really changed during the countless years I spent changing my identity to engage myself in different professions in the city as long as I kept fulfilling my lifelong task without the awareness of those around me including those around me including those in my neighborhood and my workplace.

Both the stressful and cumbersome operations of my secret work haven been much of a issue to me over the years, for I believe that I have already gotten used to it by now but the recent occurrence with someone more dangerous than a black widow spider which occurred last week, had plunged the whole routine operations into a stringent process much more hazardous than I have ever imagined.

As I stride with ease along the sunbaked sidewalk of a nearby bus station, I peered at a little boy standing close to an old woman at the doorpost of a distant Chinese restaurant whose cheeks was tainted with ice cream which almost soiled his red leather jacket as he tried to devour the cold creamy liquid with vigor while ignoring the chattering of the old woman, whom I presume to be his aunt, with a black cab driver dressed up in a green sweater and black pants. His blue eyes reminded me of how I used to look like back in day, when I was still a young lad living with my sick mother in a wretched cottage at the remote areas close to the coast where life was very much different from this present reality, both in lifestyles and fashionable outfits which depicted the ancient period when I was born into this cruel world. My upbrin