Post by Raihor on Nov 3, 2008 18:20:51 GMT -5
[[New ending verion: new.voicelessdreamer.com/story/obsession.html ]]
I've been meaning to post this for a while, but I keep forgetting. It's pretty much the only writing I've made that has an end. Here we go:
Morning strikes. The grey haze twitches across the horizon, daring the sun to peek through the eternal clouds that sap the world of colour. A man sits up in bed. 6:45, the clock reads, just as it does every single day. The man sits up and snatches up a photograph, the corners of which are frayed from years of being clutched tight in desperate, obsessive hands. A young woman smiles back up at him, one who looks to be around her mid 20s with blonde hair and a fringe over one eye, and frameless glasses perched cutely on her nose. The man puts the photo back down and stands up, stretching and surveying the room. More photos, covering all the walls, depict her in various situations, moments of time frozen in a Polaroid frame. She is unaware of this. As always, she is unaware. The man knows that she’ll be waking up soon, so he gets dressed – plain and inconspicuous clothes – and heads into town. The woman runs like clockwork, and the man has become extremely efficient at stalking her.
Under the overcast sky, hidden behind a newspaper, the stalker waits at the bus stop. He knows what bus the woman takes, and can already see it at the end of the street. No sign of the woman herself, but the stalker stands up anyway as the bus pulls into the lane, groaning and screeching in complaint. His mouth twitches slightly in satisfaction as he sees her running for the bus from the end of the street. He is already onboard, and he loses himself in the crowd and stands near the exit. Through a tunnel of arms and faces, he sees that she made it safely onboard as well. Unaware, as always, she stares aimlessly out the front window. The stalker lets the details sink in; the way she flicks her hair, the way she sighs occasionally and scratches the back of her head. He knows what stop she gets off at, so he deliberately gets off one stop later. Down the end of the road, as he turns the corner, the huge looming office block fills his vision, and a flying glimpse of the woman is seen, before the automatic doors slide smoothly shut, and she is absorbed into the beast where the stalker cannot follow.
The slot machine pings as the stalker’s last coin of the day is whisked away from him. Just like every day, he didn’t win a thing. As if by instinct, he knows it is time to leave the pub that he always goes to. The slot machine faces a window with the woman’s workplace in plain sight. Approximately 3 minutes later, the woman walks briskly out of the office building, in a hurry to get back home after her 9-hour day. Overtime again. The stalker hurries to keep up, yet stays as far away as possible so as not too be seen. No worries, because as always she is unaware. He stares silently as he rounds a corner, admiring the way she swings her hips. There are 2 busses at the bus stop, huddled close in the chill of the afternoon, so he deliberately gets on a different bus to her. He knows when to get off. Again, as she gets off the bus, he stays on. He knows where her house is. But then something new happens. As the bus pulls out, the woman casts a glare in his direction; a glare that hits him right in the eye and cuts through his thoughts. It is full of such malice and contempt, her face twisted into something ugly he has never seen before. But it is only a fraction of a second, and almost as if her face had remained static, she looks the same as ever. Was she looking at him, or was it just a coincidence? The stalker dismisses the incident, banishing it from his mind.
9:03 in the evening. The stalker sits in the bushes that line the alleyway that runs parallel to the woman’s garden. He stares up at her house, yearning to be there. Not to be in this cold, dark world that he is forever trapped inside. A twitch of movement in her curtains, and she pulls them apart to shut the window. As she does, the towel covering her body falls away. For the last 8 weeks, the stalker had filmed her window and finally his patience is rewarded inside his sick mind. This cassette is not going to be abandoned like the others. The window shut, the woman backs away, turning her naked body away from the dark outside world. She picks up her towel and hastily pulls the curtains shut. Satisfied, the stalker turns off the camera and returns to his decrepit flat.
6:45 … bus stop … office building … slot machine … bus stop … alleyway … following, following. Days blend into weeks, and the weeks stay the same. Forever. Yet the stalker never tires, he is always there, following doggedly. One night she went to a club. He waited outside in the gutter. One day she went to a theme park. He was there.
It is 3 weeks later, 2:49 in the morning. The woman sleeps soundly, but the stalker does not. In need of money, bus tickets and such, he patrols the streets with a different prey in mind. Soon he spots a suitable victim; a drunk man in his early 20s. Stealthy as a cat, the stalker follows him down the dark street. So foolish to be out alone so late. The prey does not notice his predator, senses befuddled by alcohol. By now it is too late; a violent blow to the head causes the young man to slump to the floor. The other man searches through his pockets. He scored well tonight; finding £30 in cash and a monthly travel card. He takes all, and returns to his flat. No need to worry about the poor soul who he just robbed.
It is 2 months later, 5:32 in the afternoon. The stalker sits on the top deck of a bus, following the woman back from her job. She is on the lower deck, but he knows when to get off. He stares down on the people outside, his mind replaying the video he’d filmed that night, and watched repeatedly for the last number of weeks, whenever he had a free moment. A movement in the crowd catches his eye, a movement he recognises well. The woman has got off the bus at a different place then she should have. Feeling slight panic, the stalker jumps up and hammers the bell repeatedly. The bus is just pulling out, and it exasperatedly lurches to a halt and opens its doors as the stalker flings himself into the crowd outside. Where is she? Where has she gone? He sees a brief flash of her blonde hair, disappearing down a side street. He vows not to lose her, he does not want to ever lose her, and so with little regard for stealth he runs after her. Down the hidden side street he goes, out of the crowd’s grasp. He spins around the corner- straight into the outstretched arm of the woman whose face he knows so well. He feels her fist thrust into his chest. For a moment her face looks blank, but slowly her mask slips; a cruel twisted smile distorts her perfect features. She brings her arm back to herself, holding a bloody knife close to her body. She watches her stalker fall, and he watches her watch him. The last thing he ever sees before his life bleeds away is a sight he’d seen every day for the last 4 years: The woman, walking away from him, unaware.
I hope it's not too bad! Be sure to be constructive with your criticism etc. Smite me if it sucks and vice versa.
Fun fact: I always was listening to Killswitch Engage while working on this.
Please note that this work is copywrited under a creative commons license with these terms: creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/
I've been meaning to post this for a while, but I keep forgetting. It's pretty much the only writing I've made that has an end. Here we go:
Morning strikes. The grey haze twitches across the horizon, daring the sun to peek through the eternal clouds that sap the world of colour. A man sits up in bed. 6:45, the clock reads, just as it does every single day. The man sits up and snatches up a photograph, the corners of which are frayed from years of being clutched tight in desperate, obsessive hands. A young woman smiles back up at him, one who looks to be around her mid 20s with blonde hair and a fringe over one eye, and frameless glasses perched cutely on her nose. The man puts the photo back down and stands up, stretching and surveying the room. More photos, covering all the walls, depict her in various situations, moments of time frozen in a Polaroid frame. She is unaware of this. As always, she is unaware. The man knows that she’ll be waking up soon, so he gets dressed – plain and inconspicuous clothes – and heads into town. The woman runs like clockwork, and the man has become extremely efficient at stalking her.
Under the overcast sky, hidden behind a newspaper, the stalker waits at the bus stop. He knows what bus the woman takes, and can already see it at the end of the street. No sign of the woman herself, but the stalker stands up anyway as the bus pulls into the lane, groaning and screeching in complaint. His mouth twitches slightly in satisfaction as he sees her running for the bus from the end of the street. He is already onboard, and he loses himself in the crowd and stands near the exit. Through a tunnel of arms and faces, he sees that she made it safely onboard as well. Unaware, as always, she stares aimlessly out the front window. The stalker lets the details sink in; the way she flicks her hair, the way she sighs occasionally and scratches the back of her head. He knows what stop she gets off at, so he deliberately gets off one stop later. Down the end of the road, as he turns the corner, the huge looming office block fills his vision, and a flying glimpse of the woman is seen, before the automatic doors slide smoothly shut, and she is absorbed into the beast where the stalker cannot follow.
The slot machine pings as the stalker’s last coin of the day is whisked away from him. Just like every day, he didn’t win a thing. As if by instinct, he knows it is time to leave the pub that he always goes to. The slot machine faces a window with the woman’s workplace in plain sight. Approximately 3 minutes later, the woman walks briskly out of the office building, in a hurry to get back home after her 9-hour day. Overtime again. The stalker hurries to keep up, yet stays as far away as possible so as not too be seen. No worries, because as always she is unaware. He stares silently as he rounds a corner, admiring the way she swings her hips. There are 2 busses at the bus stop, huddled close in the chill of the afternoon, so he deliberately gets on a different bus to her. He knows when to get off. Again, as she gets off the bus, he stays on. He knows where her house is. But then something new happens. As the bus pulls out, the woman casts a glare in his direction; a glare that hits him right in the eye and cuts through his thoughts. It is full of such malice and contempt, her face twisted into something ugly he has never seen before. But it is only a fraction of a second, and almost as if her face had remained static, she looks the same as ever. Was she looking at him, or was it just a coincidence? The stalker dismisses the incident, banishing it from his mind.
9:03 in the evening. The stalker sits in the bushes that line the alleyway that runs parallel to the woman’s garden. He stares up at her house, yearning to be there. Not to be in this cold, dark world that he is forever trapped inside. A twitch of movement in her curtains, and she pulls them apart to shut the window. As she does, the towel covering her body falls away. For the last 8 weeks, the stalker had filmed her window and finally his patience is rewarded inside his sick mind. This cassette is not going to be abandoned like the others. The window shut, the woman backs away, turning her naked body away from the dark outside world. She picks up her towel and hastily pulls the curtains shut. Satisfied, the stalker turns off the camera and returns to his decrepit flat.
6:45 … bus stop … office building … slot machine … bus stop … alleyway … following, following. Days blend into weeks, and the weeks stay the same. Forever. Yet the stalker never tires, he is always there, following doggedly. One night she went to a club. He waited outside in the gutter. One day she went to a theme park. He was there.
It is 3 weeks later, 2:49 in the morning. The woman sleeps soundly, but the stalker does not. In need of money, bus tickets and such, he patrols the streets with a different prey in mind. Soon he spots a suitable victim; a drunk man in his early 20s. Stealthy as a cat, the stalker follows him down the dark street. So foolish to be out alone so late. The prey does not notice his predator, senses befuddled by alcohol. By now it is too late; a violent blow to the head causes the young man to slump to the floor. The other man searches through his pockets. He scored well tonight; finding £30 in cash and a monthly travel card. He takes all, and returns to his flat. No need to worry about the poor soul who he just robbed.
It is 2 months later, 5:32 in the afternoon. The stalker sits on the top deck of a bus, following the woman back from her job. She is on the lower deck, but he knows when to get off. He stares down on the people outside, his mind replaying the video he’d filmed that night, and watched repeatedly for the last number of weeks, whenever he had a free moment. A movement in the crowd catches his eye, a movement he recognises well. The woman has got off the bus at a different place then she should have. Feeling slight panic, the stalker jumps up and hammers the bell repeatedly. The bus is just pulling out, and it exasperatedly lurches to a halt and opens its doors as the stalker flings himself into the crowd outside. Where is she? Where has she gone? He sees a brief flash of her blonde hair, disappearing down a side street. He vows not to lose her, he does not want to ever lose her, and so with little regard for stealth he runs after her. Down the hidden side street he goes, out of the crowd’s grasp. He spins around the corner- straight into the outstretched arm of the woman whose face he knows so well. He feels her fist thrust into his chest. For a moment her face looks blank, but slowly her mask slips; a cruel twisted smile distorts her perfect features. She brings her arm back to herself, holding a bloody knife close to her body. She watches her stalker fall, and he watches her watch him. The last thing he ever sees before his life bleeds away is a sight he’d seen every day for the last 4 years: The woman, walking away from him, unaware.
I hope it's not too bad! Be sure to be constructive with your criticism etc. Smite me if it sucks and vice versa.
Fun fact: I always was listening to Killswitch Engage while working on this.
Please note that this work is copywrited under a creative commons license with these terms: creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/