From Hell to Phone

A Story by Abishai100

Time-capsule 'confession' of a stalker/lady concerning incomplete-lines to the 'leviathan' of life-choice, Selfie-reason, and a fashion's turn (for Jabberwocky).

An offbeat stalker confession (fictional).

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I'm a stalker. Well, you'd not think it, since I'm a woman, but I had no choice, really. I made mark of a special American worker, a man who worked at a railways station, Mr. Amlan Satan, and I decided he'd become my special Selfie-culture objectified person-soul of infinite obsession for personal gratification for immersing into his consciousness of quiet demeanor for completely-satisfied lifestyle for everyday work with dashingly good diligence-like affability and work ethic and co-worker relations thank-you's. I won't tell you my name, of course, since I'm putting this Hades-testimony in a time-capsule for future-world archaeologists to make for discovery in my Selfie-age of incomplete-distances readings of the 'personality' behind Earthling citizenry traffic/transit 'helmets' in this 20th-21st (early) Century.

I chased Satan to the airport where he flew-away, escaped somewhere to Belgium, and I decided he won in the escape, and that I would not follow him to Europe, if he successfully escaped. Had he failed, I'd have shot him with my handy-dandy silencer in the airport restroom and burned him to ash. I decided to start stalking him about 2 years pre-escape resolution at the airport (damn). I knew he was something like that damned Road-Runner, and I was his ill-fated Wile E. Coyote (Looney-Tunes!); I decided his work with American railways integrity-chains for cleats drew in me undeniable fan-like superstitions of why a worker like Bartleby threw me into some soul-pit like the lake-of-fire where I'd think about those helmets of Earth-grids motion 'linked' human realm chains (damn).

AIRPORT ATTENDANT: I'm telling you, Mr. Satan has already boarded his flight.

ME: Are you certain it wasn't someone who simply looked like my target, pal?

AIRPORT ATTENDANT: Miss doubt, this is nothing for negotiations; he's flown.

ME: Damn you...this is criminal (damn).

AIRPORT ATTENDANT: Find him through the next flight to Euro-chase, lady!

ME: Yes, yes, yes; I've no Rationalism for any Selfie-face woe for life (ok?).

AIRPORT ATTENDANT: Are you a fashion-world person, incidentally, lady?

ME: Who me?

AIRPORT ATTENDANT: You've that look of someone immersed in Selfie-dressers.

FASHION SHOW GUEST: You're inspired by a stalker-examination, you say?
ME: Does it matter...I've found peace/laurel/success as a designer overground!
GUEST: This show's brilliant, and you look gorgeous, lady snow.
ME: I feel it...and everyone raves about my powder doughnut (holes!) sweets.
GUEST: You must be pleased with making a splash in a sector ruled by Gora.
ME: Gora was the 1st-king, and I'm merely the new baby on the block (damn).
GUEST: Well, if you're a stalker (honestly), you've found 'cool' redemption (brain).
ME: You said it, and it's way better than psychiatry (for Selfie-football!).
GUEST: Cool...you should check-out the new Gora-tie line (Brussels).
ME: Not a chance in Hell...I'm (all) American (for evermore).
GUEST: Good (Selfie-like).