Human Nature
On this day, the only runners on the large
running track were as lifeless as the track itself. They were leaves, fallen or
pulled from the trees that congregated around the outside. The most significant
spectators. The floodlights seemed to join them in their observations; the
large, unbending poles of grey dotted between the unpredictable green. The
colours of the leaves had faded, and now the wind pushed them from one side to
another. They were almost skipping.
The hum of the distant lawn mower consistently
broke the ever ebbing silence. Yet it was complimented with a more human
murmur; the sound in of conversations, fading in and out as they passed me by. Even
the birds seemed particularly absent today, but the occasional chitter or chirp
reminds me of their presence, despite the fact I could not manage to see them.
I moved myself around to another side of the
track, new sights unfolded around me, making any one perspective seemed
particularly narrow. It was like a photograph, in the way that so much is
missed on the outside of the lens. I found a kind of river which looked
natural, but was uneasily human. The theme of this place seems to be an
intertwining of both nature and humanity. Even the ducks showed this, and they
swam atop an empty wine bottle, and floated by another. They didn’t seem to
notice.
Mark Roberts
Mass
Observation
A
woman with bright hair and a loud voice is managing two conversations at once,
on her phone and with a quiet girl in passing. Her accent is thick and grating
in the peace of the lake, and I'm not sure whoever is on the other side of the
phone can get a word in edgeways. The girl she’s with, much more smartly
dressed, doesn’t seem to be able to stop for long, and she hurries away after a
brief goodbye.
A
group of people stride by, all separated into pairs, and their voices join the
woman on the phone, carried across the lake by the wind. It has a bitter edge
to it as it rustles through the reeds that enclose the water. They all laugh at
once, waving their hands around as they tell more of their stories.
A
group of three come by when the others have left, all bundled up in coats and
scarves. They each have their hands wrapped around polystyrene cups, and they
yawn as they shuffle along the path, the smell of strong coffee trailing
behind.
The
woman on the phone has moved away, finishing her conversation. There is a group
of four spread out under the shelter of a building, but from this distance you
can only hear snatches of words. When they quiet down, all you can hear is the
wind and the hum of the building behind.
Suki
Joul-Taylor
Mass observation
Starting
point: education building
The
first task for the creative writing session has been set. Six or so eager
students, appointed group number one, head to the lake to make observations. An
older man dressed in a plaid shirt parks himself on a brown bench outside a
busy building. Looking inside at the people he types away. A younger girl
strolls his way and catches his attention. Eyeing her up and down his fingers
tapper away at his keyboard, anyone would think he was observing her every move
or something…
Next
destination: somewhere on a car park
A
Bretton Architectural LTD van is parked on a car park in between St. Helens
road and Graduates court. Despite the chilly weather the silver door is open
and what seems to be a masculine leg is folded, edging slightly out the van. He
still sits there patiently. However I feel he may be waiting there a while no
one seems to be around.
Observation
three: next to the lake
Some of
the students on campus appear to have issues with prolonged eye contact. The
girl with red hair and a concentrated face appears to be watching every last
movement any one makes. A group of people walk past her and she does not fail
to look at every person within the group, the she starts to scribble away. The
guy on the wall, a few meters away from the red haired girl, is mirroring her
behaviour. It’s a good job I know they’re part of the creative writing class
and not just giving me the ‘I am going to stare at you because you have
disturbed me whilst I am trying to work’ look.
Next
destination again: the opposite side of the car park
From
the western side of the car park men have finally emerged wearing a luminous
yellow jacket. Arms folded with an ‘I am not enjoying my job’ kind of
expression the older of the three men leans up against the bonnet of the work
van. The other two men take comfort on the cushy grey seats within the van. The
third man on the bonnet does not look too happy with his choice of seating.
On the
road again: travelling back
Walking
past the library a group of people, one of which just won an award for
achieving the highest degree within third year creative writing class, are
discussing (rather loudly) a programme on BBC. One of the lectures Billy said
the programme on BBC is alright but it didn’t make him laugh out loud. I think
I will give it a miss, in all honestly I love a good laugh. Sorry Billy!
by Sophie Cotterill
Mass
Observation
Although the area is deserted aside
from when the occasional student walks by, there is movement everywhere. Amber
and auburn leaves dance on the vacant running track, twirling around each other
in a whirlpool of circles. Branches of even the thickest trees bend with the
wind, specks of green breaking off to be carried away to invisibility.
The car park appears to glitter as
white sunlight mirrors off the glass of a hundred windscreens. Endless lines of
the large metal machines stretch across the park in a mass of black and silver,
with sporadic bursts of crimson or yellow.
A small tawny coloured bird swoops down
from a backdrop of monotone clouds tainting an otherwise blue sky, and glides
low along the ground of the running track, racing only the wind in the absence
of runners.
A lone student’s presence is first
known from the sound of heeled boots on the tiled ground, echoing loud over the
wind and whisper of leaves as the bushes sway in lazy motions. She walks with a
confident determination despite the fact her eyes are trained on her mobile
phone screen, engrossed in her fingers blurring over the buttons, refusing to
acknowledge even the direction she is moving in. Her strides are long. A blonde
ponytail sits at the top of her head, swinging back and forth across her back
like a pendulum of golden hair. She turns a corner, and the scene is once again
free from people, but is still full of life.
Brontё
Pleasants
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