Definitive Follower
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He rather liked the bitter taste of iron despite the phantom pain in his chest. An old habbit raised from the dead for this occasion, but warrented: chewing his inner cheek. It kept the brunnet in line, his mouth closed and his mind distracted... somewhat.
Seneca had never allowed himself to be so callus before, so attached to the subject.
But that was solely his mistake.
Stalking in it's most derogatory form, he watched her for her month. The alloted time he had done to just about everyone else since he stated living alone. A game turned phycological analysis experiment to see if could discern the reasons behind mannerisms and core personality's without contacting said individuals in wich way or another.
Sure, he was pretty aware that somewhere in a library the catalogued codex of Dr. Esteemed Individual simply rocked the walls of some dusty corner, and that he'd be fascinated and slighlty unnerved about how jaded he had become to come to appreciate the complexity of their work- but dammit he was a twenty two year old man trying to fill in the hours between work, the grocery and home.
And right now, durring day fifty eight of the Antonia Blackwell case study- as he sat just across from her on the back the sparsely filled bus, as he flipped between page two hundred n' eleven of Lolita and listened to her flirt with a vagrant looking chap to her left just a few decibles above the Sweet Disposition on his iPod, he realized he never had a snow balls chance in hell.
The distorted vacuum in his heart grew a little more as he admitted that.
...his mind reeled in muted horror.
And as he turned the dial up to end his self imposed observational learning experiment the world became darker and suddenly he found he couldn't breath-
--
I just started typing and, this was what I got. I actually have an idea of where to go from here if anyone wants me to go on. I didn't take this seriously, but depending on how I feel [later] about this I might redo it.
There are some real life refferences in this like: Seneca is the name of the street I grew up on; I like to use it as a handle in video games. I do chew on my cheek occasionally out of habit and that the novel Lolita is great read.
And excuse all typos and grammatical errors.
Seneca had never allowed himself to be so callus before, so attached to the subject.
But that was solely his mistake.
Stalking in it's most derogatory form, he watched her for her month. The alloted time he had done to just about everyone else since he stated living alone. A game turned phycological analysis experiment to see if could discern the reasons behind mannerisms and core personality's without contacting said individuals in wich way or another.
Sure, he was pretty aware that somewhere in a library the catalogued codex of Dr. Esteemed Individual simply rocked the walls of some dusty corner, and that he'd be fascinated and slighlty unnerved about how jaded he had become to come to appreciate the complexity of their work- but dammit he was a twenty two year old man trying to fill in the hours between work, the grocery and home.
And right now, durring day fifty eight of the Antonia Blackwell case study- as he sat just across from her on the back the sparsely filled bus, as he flipped between page two hundred n' eleven of Lolita and listened to her flirt with a vagrant looking chap to her left just a few decibles above the Sweet Disposition on his iPod, he realized he never had a snow balls chance in hell.
The distorted vacuum in his heart grew a little more as he admitted that.
...his mind reeled in muted horror.
And as he turned the dial up to end his self imposed observational learning experiment the world became darker and suddenly he found he couldn't breath-
--
I just started typing and, this was what I got. I actually have an idea of where to go from here if anyone wants me to go on. I didn't take this seriously, but depending on how I feel [later] about this I might redo it.
There are some real life refferences in this like: Seneca is the name of the street I grew up on; I like to use it as a handle in video games. I do chew on my cheek occasionally out of habit and that the novel Lolita is great read.
And excuse all typos and grammatical errors.
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This is an interesting read, actually. Though I'm interested in seeing where this goes and your narrative had really set the tone as to what's going; seeing a man obsess over someone and watch as she seems to drift a bit further away while seemingly ignorant of this man's existence.
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Oooh! Someone who actually wrote well! i'll be intereted to see where you go with the story as well.
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REM Sleep
He could feel it as he drifted off his seat and as his face collided violently against the floor of the shuttle. When the fragile cartilage of his nose grinned apart under his full weight and blood slowly started trickling down the trachea of his unresponsive body.
This was not heartbreak, this was something else entirely.
There was a sudden jerk and his mind exploded into silent cries as his face slid across the slick floor and rolled onto his back.
It suddenly dawned on him however him that he WAS in fact breathing! The constricting- shallow gulp he took proved that! Only for that thought savagely pushed aside at the more pressing matter of drowning in his own life.
He could sense more then feel people huddled around his lanky form, too afraid to touch him. Paranoid that whatever had happened to him was contagious.
Maybe it was?
He'd probably have popped the emergency hatch and ran by now.
Was that why they hadn't turned him to his side yet, so he could breath!
They green eyed boy wanted to reach out so desperately right now to his mother, father, sister, friends, anyone he had never taken the time to know and grip every chance he let slip by because behind the thundering bass line in his headphones he could hear the growing hysteria in the voices of those he wanted to reach out and save him.
He knew he knew he was going to die.
Humans were cowards he had long since discovered.
For the second time in the last half hour as he felt his body grew cold and his thoughts slurred together and then not at all, he died.
-
Imagine your imaginary lover watching you die for real, for fun.
Your not dead, yet. Dream on.
--
Thanks for the positive responses : D Things got painful and weird right? The quip above is something I thought of, a tangent that I found appropriate since I named this segment "REM Sleep". For those of you who have ever woken up an not been able to move your body in the slightest but have fully functional thought/panic attack, that's what this real life nightmare is called.
He could feel it as he drifted off his seat and as his face collided violently against the floor of the shuttle. When the fragile cartilage of his nose grinned apart under his full weight and blood slowly started trickling down the trachea of his unresponsive body.
This was not heartbreak, this was something else entirely.
There was a sudden jerk and his mind exploded into silent cries as his face slid across the slick floor and rolled onto his back.
It suddenly dawned on him however him that he WAS in fact breathing! The constricting- shallow gulp he took proved that! Only for that thought savagely pushed aside at the more pressing matter of drowning in his own life.
He could sense more then feel people huddled around his lanky form, too afraid to touch him. Paranoid that whatever had happened to him was contagious.
Maybe it was?
He'd probably have popped the emergency hatch and ran by now.
Was that why they hadn't turned him to his side yet, so he could breath!
They green eyed boy wanted to reach out so desperately right now to his mother, father, sister, friends, anyone he had never taken the time to know and grip every chance he let slip by because behind the thundering bass line in his headphones he could hear the growing hysteria in the voices of those he wanted to reach out and save him.
He knew he knew he was going to die.
Humans were cowards he had long since discovered.
For the second time in the last half hour as he felt his body grew cold and his thoughts slurred together and then not at all, he died.
-
Imagine your imaginary lover watching you die for real, for fun.
Your not dead, yet. Dream on.
--
Thanks for the positive responses : D Things got painful and weird right? The quip above is something I thought of, a tangent that I found appropriate since I named this segment "REM Sleep". For those of you who have ever woken up an not been able to move your body in the slightest but have fully functional thought/panic attack, that's what this real life nightmare is called.