The Watcher

The sun hit the building, illuminating the perfect structure. It was neat and plain reflecting the person that inhabits it. The only thing that seemed out of place was the brown boxes that lay in front of a clean, white wall, crushing the daisies and grass beneath it. A hand grasped the binoculars as a figure came into view, his breath quickened and his throat became dry. His knuckles turned white as his gaze became more intent and a nauseous feeling overcame him, it was apparent that it was 'love sick'. "There are different stages and types of stalkers, some internal sensations include, a quickened heartbeat and breathlessness or forgetting to breathe."

His glassy orbs solely fixated on the individual who was mere meters away from him, the world seemed to fade around the man as the only image on his mind was her. His mind seemed to wander creating different scenarios between the two. In the person's head, she felt the same lovesick for him. He knew she wanted him too. "There are different stages and types of stalkers, one mentality of stalkers is that they believe the person they are obsessed with has mutual feelings." The man's body temperature rose as his face went from a ghastly pale colour to a rosy pink. He gingerly set the binoculars on an oak table. His nails digging into the rough flesh around his neck. Slowly dragging them across the tissue, one of his legs began to slightly bounce not being able to keep still.

The figure he had been watching with the eyes of the predator, slowly disappeared into the house. An irritated sigh escaped the man's lips, his body began to relax, and his muscles unraveled. He slowly removed his hand from his neck, ghosting the flesh as he slowly dragged it down his body. Red fingerprints smudged his shirt. His eyes, once filled with desire, became desolate.

Black painted the sky and a soft glow emitted from the windows of the house like honey, trickling down the frames. The figure was peacefully sprawled across the sofa, solely fixated on the T.V in a trans-like state. The entire street was silent, the only lights were the ones coming from the woman's house. The street was inky and the woman wasn't able to see anything when she occasionally looked outside. She trudged up to the bedroom, dased. Sleep was beginning to incase the woman like a coffin as she finally closed her eyes.

Russels and soft crunches filled the ears of the man, daisies flattened underfoot. The watcher seemed to blend with the night like he was meant to be confined within the abyss, the man avoided the golden glow of light for fear he might be torn away from his inky prison. His heart fluttered like a moth in distress, he bit his lip to avoid making any noise. It was extremely difficult, how could he not excitement filled his veins as he would finally...

Aloud screech rung in the man's ears, dread drownded the man as he frantically looked around for the source of the sound. To his left a bird perched upon a fence staring at the watcher. The man continued, leaping up the tree and towards the window. The ledge was thick and easily supported his weight.

The lock broke off with ease, he gingerly slipped in. The man stayed still for a moment taking in the scene, his eyed fell on the woman sleeping soundly. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful, and oh so helpless. He raised a hand to her face and caressed her cheek softly, the skin felt so smooth against his ghastly hand. The woman began to stir, a smile spread across his lip as he was finally able to speak to his love so close to him. His hand moved from her cheek to lips, his digits slightly parting them as eyes held obsession and desire. The woman's eyes flew open as she knew something was wrong. The watcher's hand covered her mouth and he hushed her,

"I will never let you let me leave I promise I'm not lying

Go ahead ask anybody who has seen me trying, I'm not going."

The watcher reached into his pocket and pulled out a rag, bringing it to the woman's face.

The sun hit the building, illuminating the perfect structure. It was neat and plain. The only thing that seemed out of place was the brown boxes that lay in front of a clean, white wall, crushing the daisies and grass beneath it. A woman came into view of the binoculars. Behind the lens was a man and several dismembered body parts. The head of the woman who used to own the perfect house, a smile was stitched in her features. It hung on the wall like a picture, on a plaque the words to perfect to live carved into it.

The man's grip tightened as the same look painted his face, which could only be described as 'love sick'.