Well there was this one time I caught the eye of a lovely girl in a university cafeteria. I approached her, but things didn't go too well. I decided I would try again.
The next day I waited in the cafeteria all day. She came in for dinner, but I was unable to catch her eye and was afraid of approaching her and getting shot down again. I went home lonely and frustrated.
The third day, I waited at the cafeteria again, and she came in for dinner. Again, she neglected to look at me, and again I was afraid to approach her. This happened the fourth day, the fifth day, and so on. Eventually I had figured out her schedule and could time my cafeteria visits to coincide with hers. I would sit and stare, waiting for her to look my way. She never did.
After a couple of weeks I started to follow her around, and took note of all the places she went to. I would always hang out at those places, hoping to meet her glance. I never did.
I wanted to gaze into this girl's eyes. Just once more, I thought, and I would finally be happy.
One night several weeks in, I waited outside of her dormitory at 7:53 PM. I sat on a bench, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Punctual as ever, she arrived at 7:54. I stared at her as she approached, full of hope and anticipation. I felt like I was about to burst into tears. Then - just then - she stole a glance in my direction. It was only a split second, but I saw her expression. And I didn't understand. What was it on her face? Terror? Fear? It was certainly not longing. I didn't really understand what the expression was.
She hurried around me in as wide an arc as possible. She slammed the door shut behind her.
I thought perhaps she was confused, and had mistaken me for someone else. Someone that meant her harm, maybe? The following night I thought I might wait on the bench again. It was a Tuesday. She had evening classes on Tuesday, and came home late, so I planned accordingly.
Again, she glanced in my direction, and hurried along the longest path possible to get into her dormitory.
Starting the following day, she always went places with friends. She had always spent time with friends, but not usually every day, and never all day. Was she suddenly more popular? I didn't understand why her friends would go grocery shopping with her, or join her at the laundromat, or even attend classes with her they were not signed up for. While the girl would not look at me, her friends would. Their angry scowls were full of malice. They did not understand, and thought I meant her harm.
It had been months by now. I was frustrated and humiliated. Her friends looked at me as if they might attack me. She was never alone and it was hard to follow her. Worst yet, she had not so much as looked in my direction since the second time on the bench. I deserved to meet eyes with her again. I needed it. She just didn't understand that this was true.
If she would not give me her attention, I decided, I would take it.
I waited for the second Friday of the month. Her suite mate was in an intramural badminton league, and they played every other Friday until late. The girl would be alone this night, as she always was on the second Friday night of the month. She worked early every Saturday, so she never went out on Friday. Armed with a spoon, dish rag, several plastic ties, and a plastic bag, I stole to her dormitory.
I was able to get into her building without much trouble as students often propped the door open. I knew where her room was located because I was accustomed to staring into her window (although she had kept the curtains closed for many weeks now). I waited in the men's toilet on her floor, pressing my ear to the door, listening for her footsteps. She arrived right on time, at 7:54 PM.
I heard the familiar beep of her suite's card reader, and slide of a magnetic lock, and the creaking of her door hinges. Earnestly, but silently, I hurried out of the men's toilet and caught her suite door with my foot. I slithered inside.
She was facing away from the door, so I was immediately in control from the start. I stuffed the dish rag into her mouth to muffle her screams, tying it in a tight not around the back of her head. I forced her to the floor, face-down. I secured her wrists and ankles with the plastic ties. I cinched them tight.
I turned her around, onto her back. I was straddling her chest, and she was looking up at me. Was she crying? She was kicking, but her legs were tied. She still did not understand: she was probably afraid I meant her harm. I soothed her, reassuring her that everything would be okay. I stroked her hair, and shushed into her ear. She struggled more, trying to squirm away. Her eyes were unfortunately closed tight, so she was not looking at me. I told her that I wasn't going to hurt her; I was just going to make sure that she would look at me.
I took the spoon out of my pocket. I assured her that I had thoroughly cleaned it, so there was no infection to worry about.
Carefully, I worked the spoon into her left eye socket. She tried to scream, but thankfully, the gag silenced her so nobody would hear her misunderstood protests. Just as I had thought, the spoon fit neatly behind her eye. Once I had worked it in, I gave the spoon a firm tug. The eyeball slipped out neatly.
I repeated the process on her other eye. I sealed both inside the plastic bag.
I never saw her again after that. Then again, I did not need to follow her any more: I could gaze into her eyes to my heart's content.
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Have any of you ever been stalked?