Chapter 3- Waiting, watching....

Perched on Notre Dame cathedral, gargoyles wickedly watch the streets and avenues of Paris. Imps, demons, dragons, raptors and other fell creatures of dubious origin sit menacingly observing mortal man in his frivolous, frantic , brief affair called life.

For 800 years they have sat. Waiting, watching, wondering. 

They spied the childrens crusade in 1212, heading to Saracen lands armed only with virginity, futility and naivety, never to return again. 

They saw Joan of Arc, steel breasted on battlements, crossbow bolt in leg, boasting, yelling and bleeding, shouting orders to recapture Paris. 

They looked upon the black spotted citizens, coughing blood, sick and dying in the dirty alleyways and dark corners of plague struck Paris.

Behind bayonets and barricades, they glowed in the fires of French rebellion while bombs and battering rams hammered on Tuileries palace.

They chuckled and howled as the diminutive dictator Napoleon stepped and strutted his stunted frame through the cobble stone streets. 

And they witnessed the coming of the twisted cross, a demonic icon, descending  upon the city like a pestilence.

Today however, the streets only run red with wine. Women dont stand on battlements but on fashion runways. Black spots have been replaced by polka dot purses, and children are free to play in peace; But everything ,and all, ever under the watchful eyes of gargoyles.