Mine Eyes Have Seen

I am not a stalker.

            I must write this two hundred times on the blackboard that is actually dirty green. With chalk that is made of the same stuff we use on our teeth. If I’m lucky, the chalk won’t creak against the board and make the awful sound of a heart stopping.

            I am not a stalker.
            The only problem with this menial, mindless assignment is that, to be honest, I think I am.

            I don’t own a trench coat and I never waste my notebook paper on the zombies around me, but oh, does my mind work overtime. I remember every meaningless fact I hear about every meaningless person in my school. I know who’s sleeping with who and what drugs the kids in third period algebra are on, I know why the mute boy in the back of every classroom lives with his hermit of an aunt and I know why the brainiac girl never tattles on the pack of wolves that pick on her during lunch. I see things happen in the hallways that no one else notices. Teachers passing notes (among other items) and the quote unquote good kids slipping suspicious packets in and out of their lockers. I pick up on every glare, raised eyebrow, smirk, and sneer that passes between the people who think their relationships are secrets only because they are left unsaid.

            I am not a stalker.
            It might be considered a gift, being so observant. In so many ways, I could be a hero. With my not-so-super powers, I could tip off thousands of ignorant teens a day, all convinced that their friends and significant others are loyal to them. I could get one more drug dealer away from the kids. The souls I could avenge in one day! The people I could save from finding out a harder way!  

            I am a stalker.

            But I don’t know how I do it. If I do know how, I don’t like to admit it. Information comes to me through a lack of my own life. In my spare time, I research people. I Google familiar names to see what comes up. I spy on people through xanga, myspace, livejournal…I hunt down blogs that some of the owners don’t even know are available to the public. I read about tragedies and treacheries, with the secrets of a background story typed out for me to know. When I see people in the halls, I recognize them by their online identities. Or what’s written about them in the bathrooms. Or on desks. Or whispered about during assemblies.

            I am a stalker.

            The real problem is that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this power. How to explain that I spy on people for a living? I want to help people, not persecute them. My goal is not to hurt everyone, but save them from pain. There’s no guarantee that what I know will help anyone avoid a breakdown. And what’s worse is that as soon as I leak someone else’s secret, I will be turned on. They will know that I’m watching them. They might be more careful.

            People are so stupid. Do I really expect them to watch out for me?
            I am a stalker.

            It’s better to watch without saying anything. That way, nothing is missed.

            I am a stalker.

 

Reviews

[K.b.tucker]

I loved this.I think we are all stalkers or maybe we are just human.Anyway i loved it.Keep it up.

[Six Impossible Things]

I can relate to this- is that scary?
..But I'm not a stalker :)

Well written. The first paragraph really pulled me in- great descriptions!

[Nihad Dweidary]

This is subtle on all major levels. I love how you made your intentions clear at the end. There is one thing missing, which you can easily insert here: an episode. Fictinalize and insert, and your story will have a great personal flavor.

Love,

Nihad