His Own Private Public

It was a quiet day in the office. Light washed the fields outside, and the same glow seemed to flow into the room in which I stood. Nothing about where I was, radiated work. It was while I was contemplating this calm that I saw it, although I felt as though I was seeing it for the second time.

The building was a perfect block of flats, red bricked with regular windows and a glass balcony on the penthouse. It must have been at least thirteen stories high and it was just, sailing by.

Towed from down below by a man sat at the wheel of a flat bed truck. What a strange thing it was. It must have been going at least 30mph. The people, they must have been falling about inside. Although, there were no people at the windows to be seen.

The moving building struck off across the fields behind us. And as the distance grew so the building shrunk in stature. But what was this? Stranger still. The driver changed tack and swung back towards us, and the building continued to shrink, smaller and smaller.

When the driver finally pulled up alongside our office building, to a battered old caravan, the block of flats was no higher than his knee. He stood in the doorway of the caravan and plucked the building from the trailer bed as though it were a bag of shopping he were taking inside.

How very odd. What had we seen? Were there people in the building? Had they shrunk too? And if so, what fate awaited them in the man’s caravan? Did he have devilish acts in store or did he just want some company, an audience, his own private public?

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