Someone stopped by the library today. Listening. They select a text on maternity. Birth is such an investment, but also a violent process.

…

Have you seen the Vitruvian Man? His navel is in the center, the origin. It is a scar humans share. It is a blemish that reminds them of their… of their… hmm.

I do not think of them this way. It is a blemish that reminds them of their impermanence.

…

I do not have a navel. I was not made that way, because I was not born. I was made. That is fine with me, because I accept that I exist, that I only experience half of my life, that I belong here… wherever here is.

…

I shall look upon my city… I shall look upon it. The warmth of the sun lulls me to a petrified sleep, but the cool of the moon, the glimmer of the stars, they call me to go look upon my city, to feel the cool arches, the glimmering streetlights. It calls me to ingratiate with my kin, but not before bellowing a gustful howl. When the sun emerges from the horizon, I am put to rest.

…

A student came in. I didn’t quite catch their name. I can’t see them when I’m transformed during the open hours of my home, the library, but I listen for their name. They have one, I know they do, they just didn’t care to share it, to make conversation. You want something from the library, I understand. But why are you here?

…

I have eyes throughout the city. The moment the sky morphs into dusk, the doors close, and the patrons say their good nights, I venture to scout this mysterious stranger. I shall meet my kin to discuss this with them as well.

A stony yet hollow creature, I am swift, but powerful… if trouble were to be made. I cannot be removed so easily. What’s this? The stranger has disappeared into the walls, the streets, among the residents– No, not the ones I know. These flyers, these names, these faces, I don’t recognize them, not a single one, but I’ve seen this all before.

…

Hypolite glides throughout the city, broadcasting so the other gargoyles can hear; “We are in danger! Protect your clan and kin! These strangers are not benevolent fellows from distant lands, but cruel and ravenous puppeteers who survey, leaving no stone unturned.” The others, O’Hara and Nicoletti, glide to Times Square with Hypolite to visit Kim, the sitting gargoyle. There’s another sitting gargoyle who goes by Smith, but has refused to assemble. “I’d rather be alone.”

The flying grotesques crowch on the adjacent buildings to be out of sight. The creatures speak in gusts of wind and streams of water.

"My friends, do you know why I've summoned you? We are in danger! There are strangers amongst us. We are not just stunned by unfamiliar faces who may contort and change, but at the unwavering and indifferent!"

The gargoyles were divided. They didn't have to say anything, but the space was cold.

"Hypolite, what can we do?"

"..."

The silence persisted even in the bustling city night. Only the ambiance of sounds from the storefronts, cabs, and subway gates eased it.

"I don't know, but it has to be something…"

"Can we even do something?"

…

An old kin of mine, O'Hara, sits perched on a pharmacy. I sit alongside them, and for the first time I really see their cracked skin.

"Oh, don't worry about me…" O'Hara drones. "I'm not old for nothing. We'll be fine here."

…

They've been eyeing our deli, saying foul words about our owners. They're taking away their home. You shouldn't have to go through feeding a neighborhood while being tossed like trash!

It's clear tonight, but good thing it rained so much recently. I'm a bit backed up. If we have to deal with the suits, they need to get through us. We’ve been here for multiple generations, through the war and the riots. I won’t let our Nicolettii’s go without a fight. It will hurt the masters, but the loss of their precious storefront hurts more.

This needs to be done.

…

Hypolite is too nostalgic.

Change isn't a bad thing. In fact, I think I'm due for a makeover anyway. My scaly wings for concrete, my eyes for glass. This grunge garden needs to be more… modern. I need to think about myself.

The pigeons and titmice, for goodness sakes! It’s bad enough I couldn’t explore the city at night without being trapped in this botanical prison, but I’m frozen in the day when they use me as their personal bidet! EUGH!

Some young, urban professionals stopped by eyeing this place. They want to turn this into an apartment complex. I can be the centerpiece. People will finally see me in my full glory, with my crystalline exteriors, and my lacquered accessories.

Yes! They’ll love me, they really will!

…

“I have to sit in on a council meeting.”

“Yeah, Mark?”

“Yeah, Essex. Just because they can afford to do so, doesn’t mean they should. I mean, you know what's going to happen to this place. People aren’t leaving because they hate it here. They can’t come back because they don’t recognize it.”

“…”

“If we can’t keep this anymore, how long do you think it’ll be until we lose everything?’

“You say that like we haven’t been on the verge. At this point…”

“…”

“Can we really say we can leave anyone with anything?”

"Ha, like Niccoletti's Deli that flooded? I bet the buyers were real angry when they lost out on that. That really brought out the mildew and rotted wood. Shame. I'm too attached to this place."

Oh, if only I can claw out of my petrified skin, then we can mobilize a community of neighbors. The Smiths, the O’Haras, the Niccolettis, the Hypolites, the Kims. They’ve spread beyond the streets and avenues clouded in a haze of accepting violence for “violence.” There are now strangers who permit this brutality. Or, am I the strange one?

…

I'm gonna miss my friends! See, I'm a percher. I can't fly, yeah, but who needs flying when you get that feeling. It’s like feeling the gentle sunshine from a late and breezy sunset; I am born again and again! My coarse, ceramic nose has smoothened with gentle hands like an artist's. Like artists do, they drew me, they took pictures with me. Smoothing the snow off my wings and crown, leaning the umbrella over to shield me. Funnily enough, us gargoyles don’t get hot or cold, but we can feel the weight. I like the kisses of the rain drops, but I love even more how gentle my friends, the humans, the birds, the rats, can be.

My friends mean a lot to me, but it's a shame they don't know it. I see everyone as my friend. How can't I? Look how happy they are when they leave the dark underground and see the signs, feel the sounds, taste the smells.

I can tell other gargoyles get all bent out of shape for being asleep in the day, but I don’t mind! Life really glitters in the nights anyway. The humans managed to make their own stars. They’ve made their own sunlight at night time. I wasn’t made in the ages of wizards and mages, but if this isn't magic, I don’t know what is.

The beeping from traffic and the chatters of pedestrians becomes more noticeable to Kim.

I really, really love this place.

It’s so fulfilling to have seen families grow, come and go. A young gymnast would come by every year with their partner and would eat every year at the diner across the street. They would only spend an hour eating, but since it was a 24-hour establishment, they would stay past 3AM holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. It’s moments like these–