Acting on Dark Impulse
by Daniel Beadle - Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Stalker enters the dorm, minutes before student security comes on duty. He keeps his head low, and meets no one’s glance. He wears a navy blue baseball hat low on his head, with a maroon hood draped on top. He keeps his hands in his jacket pockets, pretending to wait for a friend he does not have. She enters, and his heart quickens. She walks past with her friend of equal, and perhaps greater hotness. Stalker pays her no mind; she’s not the one he came for. Stalker hears whispers in his mind. He knows what must be done. Her life must be destroyed. There must be retribution.Stalker follows, with full knowledge of her destination. He’s been observing her for days, getting closer every time. She used to be so beautiful to me. Now I can’t even see her as human. She fades into the background of nothingness. Fuck her and all her lies. Stalker clenches his fist as his anger replaces his soft sense of lost love. Bitch. Shallow little bitch. Just like the rest of this fucking society. Human beings pretending their lives are meaningful and significant. I hate. I hate so much. Stalker calms himself. His future acts will prove cathartic. The drinking and the cutting have lost their effectiveness. I need a new drug. I need a real solution.
Stalker watches her enter the elevator, laughing with her friend. You realize she’s just a scapegoat. It’s not her fault. Yes, I know. But I don’t give a shit. She will serve a greater purpose now. Stop. Call it off. Don’t do this. I have to. There is no choice now. I lost so much. There must be retribution. Stalker looks at his arm. He can still feel the scars beneath the jacket. Scars that spell out her fucking name.
Stalker takes the stairs. It’s only four stories. He can make it. Just don’t touch the railing. He walks onto her floor. Good thing it’s cold out. Justifies the garb. He stands and watches the dorm room door, with its little friendly fucking messages spelled out in erasable ink. Nothing is permanent here. Nothing lasts. She’s coming. Hide, Stalker. Hide. He turns as she walks past, going to her room. He looks at the door shut behind her. Leave. You don’t have to do this. You don’t want to do this. Yes, yes I do.
Stalker raises his fist to the door. Will she recognize me? Doubtful, but probable. Do my thoughts make sense? Or have I lost a grip on the world of collective lies and deceptive promises? Maybe. He knocks. He waits, and turns his head away from the peephole. She opens the door. Hello. He forces a smile as he charges into the room, knocking her to the floor. He closes the door behind him and pushes the lock button on the knob.
“Hello, A—Jen.” His mind betrays him. She looks up in disbelief.
“Gra—.”
“Shhhh. Don’t say it. I’ve only come her to take what’s mine.” He reaches down and lifts her up by her neck. “Do you remember me? I doesn’t matter. You see, I’m not very much who I used to be. I’m a stranger to you now. The me that you knew… he’s not here anymore.”
She gags, trying to catch some air to share with her lungs.
Stalker feels her in his arms. He watches her sleep. He runs his fingers through her hair. She tells him she loves him. He tells her he loves her. Obsession. Compulsion. WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME? Fucking piece of shit. Never held onto to that fucking lie of yours you said we’d always be together god damn you gave me hope I thought I could escape it but I can’t fuck all yer lies you fucking bitch I hate everything about you now. I LOVED YOU! WHY DID YOU DO THIS? I LOST EVERYTHING! And now you choke on that last bit of life. And now I will do the same. And we’ll be together forever. Just as it should be. Before life got in the way of happiness.
"Oh my beautiful liar, oh my precious whore. My disease, my infection... I am so impure."--Trent Reznor
