Never look up By Aris Merquoni Gargoyles and related characters belong to Disney and Buena Vista TV. All other characters are mine. This is a short but rational explination of why nobody in NY really noticed the Gargoyles until Hunter's Moon --- My name is Jane. Jane is a boring name, but many people have said I'm a boring person. I'm content with what I have, a small apartment in a good district of Manhattan. I've got a working car that somehow never gets stolen, and a god job that pays relativly well. I never look up. That's really all I do. You see, once, I looked up. And I payed for it. I was walking home one night, late, car was in the shop because it was having some engine problemes. Going 'rattle-clang' and such. I was walking, as fast as I could, when all of a sudden this big metal arm drops onto the sidewalk in front of me. It scared me out of my skin, of course. It made a terrible crunching noise as it landed, and it was all burned up with a few wires sticking out of the end, and the wires were sparking. I didn't know what it was doing, so I looked up to see where it came from. I saw flashes of light, beams cutting across the air, as if someone was showing a space fight film with ray guns and blaster weapons and such. I can talk about it calmly now, of course, but then it was amazing. And then I saw that there were people up there, people with wings, banking on the air currents and weaving through the beams of light in a sort of arial ballet. Then one of them dove on another, and there was a mettalic tearing, and another metal arm came crashing down beside the first. The owner of the arm, a robot, came down soon after it. The robot exploded after it hit the ground. I ran, and as I ran I subconciously realized that I had taken the first metal arm with me. When I got home I locked the door tight, then locked the window as well. Then I took the metal arm and wrapped it in old cloth and shoved it in a storage box. I stared at it for a few seconds. Nobody would believe me, I knew. I hardly believed myself. So I knew I had to get rid of the arm so that nobody would ask me about it. And so I go on with my life, day after day. Yet every night I take the metal arm out from its box and look it over, amazed at the intricasy of the wiring. I look at the mark left at the broken end, where it looked like someone had pressed their finger into the metal to make an indentation, yet nobody I know has fingers so strong. And I look where the metal seems to be torn, yet what is strong enough to tear metal I do not know, or wish to know. I saved the pieces from the lazer. I know mechanics, I fitted them together in the shell of my handgun. Now I feel a lot safer, protected against the visible dangers of the city. But I still don't look up.