The Qualms of a Stalker: A Short Story
I remember it like it was yesterday. I had been watching her from afar for well over a month now. My simple curiosity had grown into a sort of infatuation. I would wait in one place for hours on end just to catch a glimpse of her. Her silky, fair hair and deep, sea blue eyes made my stomach turn flips. Her creamy white skin made my fingers ache to touch her. The way she moved, how her clothes accentuated her curves and revealed her shapely legs. I never knew it then; how my now turned obsession with her would give way to disaster.
I had been waiting outside her apartment building, waiting for my daily fleeting look. I knew something was going to be different about that day, even before it started. First, she was late coming out. I thought this unusual, but paid no heed to it. Then, as I followed her to work, I noticed a change in her. I did not know what it was and still cannot name it. That was when I became suspicious and watched her even more closely. She left work early and seemed in a hurry to get back to her apartment. I, of course, followed her like a shadow. I waited a few moments before following her up to her apartment. It was number twenty-two on the fifth floor. The door was locked, like I thought it would be. I went around back to the fire escape and climbed it until I reached her window. This window overlooked her bedroom and was placed directly over her bed. When I peered through the window, it seemed as if my heart had ceased beating. For a moment, all was still as I looked upon her and a stranger in the primitive acts of love.
My vision went black and then returned as red. My blood ran to my temples as I clenched my fists. A monster in my chest rose from a deadly sleep and roared. My mind ran with thoughts. This stranger is touching her, only I can touch her; This stranger must be taught a lesson; This stranger must DIE! With the completion of this last thought, the silence was broken with the unearthly sound of shattering glass. I was flung on top of them. As soon as I landed I lunged for the stranger's throat. I could tell the attack wasn't anticipated, for he died within a few minutes. My fury should have subsided with the death of the stranger, but it was just getting started. I felt a stab of pain in the back of my shoulder that raced down my arm. I turned around to see her standing behind me with a bloodied knife raised above her head. She tried to stab me again, but I dodged the blow. Infuriated by this betrayal, I caught the wrist holding the knife and twisted it cruelly until she dropped the weapon. I could see the fear in her eyes as the knife dropped to the floor with a clang. That's when I lost it. I don't know what possessed me but, smiling evilly into her face, I found myself grabbing her shoulders in a steely grip and shaking her. I kept shaking and shaking her until her head snapped back and broke her neck, killing her instantly. I let go of her then, and picked up the knife. I don't clearly remember everything I yelled at her as I repeatedly stabbed her dead body, driving the knife into her flesh up to the handle every time. Then the fury subsided at last and did not return. By now I was confused and did not know what to do next. In my frustration, I wreaked havoc upon her apartment; overturning furniture, breaking anything and everything, painting the once white walls crimson with my blood. I finally spent all my energy and collapsed onto the floor. When I woke up, I was in the hospital being treated for my wounds. I was asked many questions by the police as to what happened that day but I found that I was unable to speak about it, even the smallest details escaped my tongue. A year later, a resident of the apartment building came forward and identified me as the killer. I was sent to a prison for psychotic murderers, serial killers, and stalkers where I have been penning my tragic tale on the wall of my cell…
In my own blood.