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    The Voyeur

    It began with the rain coming down and drowning the pavement in puddles. I remember it always because it doesn’t rain much in California, and because it was the day that I met her. It’s raining now. I can see it as the light is fading, and the strange glare on the puddles is mesmerizing me. There’s reflection of self and I know that time is short. I can still feel her arms around me, because they’re still there. I turn my head to look up and those eyes are looking down. I see them filled with horror and misted but I see them nonetheless. There is another reflection of self, and I am echoing in her eyes. I turn my head again, the water and its strange power over me. Reaching out to touch it and the concentric circles ripple out. Their effect is like my life. So little contact, so many waves, a little here and there reaching out to touch the edges. I lived my life like that, letting a little become a lot. My arm is limp now, away from the puddles and her arms are still around me. My head has turned and I cannot turn it back so I am lost here in the water again. My affinity with water began so many eons ago. Here I touch it again, but not touching. My soul is leaking into the puddle and each drop creates another set of waves. So little becoming so much.

     

    ******************************************************

     

    The first day I saw her I was mesmerized. I am easily so, and it has been that way since childhood. I have been caught so often with a dazed look and my mouth hanging open that someone once called me the fly catcher. Once my attention is caught, I am hard to uncatch. I am like a fish on a hook, splintered and angry but still bouncing and trailing, never letting go. And she caught me that day, in the rain, and I haven’t let go since. I was huddled against the side of the building for shelter, my mind wrapped around the book in my hand. My legs were wet to the knees but it didn’t matter. The bell for class had long gone and I was still there, lost in my novel; half of me soaking and half of me dry. She slipped out of her class, the one I was supposed to be in, lithe and nimble with a hall pass in hand. She walked straight past my hiding place that was out in the open. Always the best place to hide because no one will look for you where they can see you. She was new, I knew that. I’d been here for years and knew everyone. She was suddenly there, an angel and a vision all at once. Her blonde hair pulled back neatly and her blue eyes sharp as the morning frost. Ohio they said she came from. I listen because they don’t speak to me, but I know this. It is the first piece of information I collect about her and file away in my memory banks for later. Other pieces will follow until I am a walking Encyclopaedia with one volume; the one marked “Spencer Carlin”. But on that first day I see her there is just her. I look up from Scout and Jem, friends I carry everywhere, and she strikes me as she walks on by. I see her slipping under the shelters and avoiding the rain that once had me captivated. Now all I see is her, and that is it for me. I’m a goner.

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    Comments

    1. wow. you have managed to capture the esscence of all the mysteries that is the human. ok that sounds weird. but i imagine there are people who weave their lives into ours without us knowing, watching and wanting to be a part of something great. to be cast as the main character in the great play called life. i know the feeling of cutting myself to see the blood. to feel the pain. to feel well anything. i am an observer but no where near these extremes. i like to watch to understand the way people are without flat out asking. makes things simpler and the truth presents itself quicker. i strayed from my point. this literally left me speechless. more like i didnt know where to began in what i had to say. i loved every minute of it and will most likely read it over and over.

    2. This was totally brilliant. It reminded me of so many things I have read; actually, let me clarify. It spurred emotions within me that had been touched once before, by a variety of stories I have read. Your main character is like us all. She desires to incorporate, at some point, her place into the narrative of two people. There is something electrifying about voyeurism. To see and not be seen. We do it all the time. It is the focus of many books and many films. Georgia has created a world for herself that is entirely hers. She exists because Ashley and Spencer exist. They fuel her internal workings, her deliciously wonderful secret meetings between the blade and her skin. They are the fire in her brain and heart. However, this type of obsession escalates…much like placing your open palm closer and closer to the tip of a flame, wanting that pain to drill into you deeper and deeper. It is almost the unweaving of a sociopath. At one point they break; just look at Ted Bundy in his final days. Her cuts have now taken on new meaning, as if she is no longer in control. And that is a lot of what this story is about: control. Her mind begins to falter, the encyclopaedia of knowledge leeking out her ears, and suddenly the smallest details are forgotten. Soon, the horrific happens: she is discovered. Spencer is there at her side. They touch. The beginning of the end. She has, as you stated, woven herself into this narrative, but this is not how it is supposed to happen. Almost as if they are on separate plains of existance and she and Spencer cannot physically occupy the same space.Thus, it all has to end. There is no other way out. For the voyeur, discovery is worse than death. It means all sense of superiority and greatness collapse. The power is lost and so is Georgia. Her final act is so utterly selfish, it boggles the mind. She weaves herself into this tale in such a horrifying act of violence, forcing Spencer and Ashley to face the outcome. This is so much more powerful than bleeding to death on the sidelines, a small blurb in the morning paper that Spencer will shed a small tear over cereal and orange juice. “How sad. This poor girl. Why? Why would she do that? Didn’t she have anyone?”She did. She had Spencer. Yet Spencer didn’t know. I am torn between utter heartfelt sympathy and blatant anger at Georgia’s final moments. I guess that is because I have been on both sides of this narrative. But, don’t we all weave ourselves into each others lives on a daily basis? Some people may say, what a freak, why couldn’t she just say hi, or take up a hobby aside form climbing trees and spying on neighbors?Because she couldn’t. Just like Scout. Wanting to be a part of things, but then having to create her own world around it. Boo Radley was a crazy monster, stabbing his mother with scissors. Until Scout sees him for the first time, against the wall, pale and scared; her savior from the evils of the “real” world.WSCNFAPB could relate to your story quite a bit. And yes, Ashley in my tale would hold her breath underwater saying Spencer’s name over and over while she masturbated. I saw a lot of similarities throughout. And that is awesome. Thanks for all the shout-outs, whether purposeful or not. Perhaps we are on the same page? This was beautifully written and articulated. I am so happy you have decided to tackle much more serious and difficult terrain; and I mean that in terms of your writting style as well as content. This was very mature and deep, many levels of understanding hidden within the words. Please continue this type of work! Sorry for this monstrous review, and I want to keep going on, but…another time? ~Megan

    3. wow. you have managed to capture the esscence of all the mysteries that is the human. ok that sounds weird. but i imagine there are people who weave their lives into ours without us knowing, watching and wanting to be a part of something great. to be cast as the main character in the great play called life. i know the feeling of cutting myself to see the blood. to feel the pain. to feel well anything. i am an observer but no where near these extremes. i like to watch to understand the way people are without flat out asking. makes things simpler and the truth presents itself quicker. i strayed from my point. this literally left me speechless. more like i didnt know where to began in what i had to say. i loved every minute of it and will most likely read it over and over.

    4. This was totally brilliant. It reminded me of so many things I have read; actually, let me clarify. It spurred emotions within me that had been touched once before, by a variety of stories I have read. Your main character is like us all. She desires to incorporate, at some point, her place into the narrative of two people. There is something electrifying about voyeurism. To see and not be seen. We do it all the time. It is the focus of many books and many films. Georgia has created a world for herself that is entirely hers. She exists because Ashley and Spencer exist. They fuel her internal workings, her deliciously wonderful secret meetings between the blade and her skin. They are the fire in her brain and heart. However, this type of obsession escalates…much like placing your open palm closer and closer to the tip of a flame, wanting that pain to drill into you deeper and deeper. It is almost the unweaving of a sociopath. At one point they break; just look at Ted Bundy in his final days. Her cuts have now taken on new meaning, as if she is no longer in control. And that is a lot of what this story is about: control. Her mind begins to falter, the encyclopaedia of knowledge leeking out her ears, and suddenly the smallest details are forgotten. Soon, the horrific happens: she is discovered. Spencer is there at her side. They touch. The beginning of the end. She has, as you stated, woven herself into this narrative, but this is not how it is supposed to happen. Almost as if they are on separate plains of existance and she and Spencer cannot physically occupy the same space.Thus, it all has to end. There is no other way out. For the voyeur, discovery is worse than death. It means all sense of superiority and greatness collapse. The power is lost and so is Georgia. Her final act is so utterly selfish, it boggles the mind. She weaves herself into this tale in such a horrifying act of violence, forcing Spencer and Ashley to face the outcome. This is so much more powerful than bleeding to death on the sidelines, a small blurb in the morning paper that Spencer will shed a small tear over cereal and orange juice. “How sad. This poor girl. Why? Why would she do that? Didn’t she have anyone?”She did. She had Spencer. Yet Spencer didn’t know. I am torn between utter heartfelt sympathy and blatant anger at Georgia’s final moments. I guess that is because I have been on both sides of this narrative. But, don’t we all weave ourselves into each others lives on a daily basis? Some people may say, what a freak, why couldn’t she just say hi, or take up a hobby aside form climbing trees and spying on neighbors?Because she couldn’t. Just like Scout. Wanting to be a part of things, but then having to create her own world around it. Boo Radley was a crazy monster, stabbing his mother with scissors. Until Scout sees him for the first time, against the wall, pale and scared; her savior from the evils of the “real” world.WSCNFAPB could relate to your story quite a bit. And yes, Ashley in my tale would hold her breath underwater saying Spencer’s name over and over while she masturbated. I saw a lot of similarities throughout. And that is awesome. Thanks for all the shout-outs, whether purposeful or not. Perhaps we are on the same page? This was beautifully written and articulated. I am so happy you have decided to tackle much more serious and difficult terrain; and I mean that in terms of your writting style as well as content. This was very mature and deep, many levels of understanding hidden within the words. Please continue this type of work! Sorry for this monstrous review, and I want to keep going on, but…another time? ~Megan

    5. you know how i feel about this. its real its truthful and it is honest. it embodies all that is human. all our needs all our desires and all of our selfishness. its beautiful in reality and fantastic in it juxtaposition. bleeding to know you are alive, and reaching out for some one to hold you. sometimes you reach to late, sometimes you reach to the wrong person. but reach none the less and you can pull yourself out of any depth. as long as you look up to see the sunshine and breath in life….and i think it’s also a testament to how we as humans treat our fellow man. you never know what your actions are causing in someone else…this story is full Full FULL of life lessons. i only hope readers walk away with half of them

    6. you know how i feel about this. its real its truthful and it is honest. it embodies all that is human. all our needs all our desires and all of our selfishness. its beautiful in reality and fantastic in it juxtaposition. bleeding to know you are alive, and reaching out for some one to hold you. sometimes you reach to late, sometimes you reach to the wrong person. but reach none the less and you can pull yourself out of any depth. as long as you look up to see the sunshine and breath in life….and i think it’s also a testament to how we as humans treat our fellow man. you never know what your actions are causing in someone else…this story is full Full FULL of life lessons. i only hope readers walk away with half of them

    7. wow. this is a deffinate side of you i have never seen before. I’ll admit, i thought about just ignoring that you posted this, but i figured it wouldnt hurt to read b/c you are a good authur. So i started reading, and thought that i wasnt going to continue because it seemed like, too different, but something kept me intrigued and i couldnt find the will power to stop. You deffinatley enter a new worl with this one and i will deffiantley applaud you for that. I like how you brought the India Ink into the story and repeated it. Instead of just mentioning it once. Good job clomle. EXCELLENT!

    8. wow. this is a deffinate side of you i have never seen before. I’ll admit, i thought about just ignoring that you posted this, but i figured it wouldnt hurt to read b/c you are a good authur. So i started reading, and thought that i wasnt going to continue because it seemed like, too different, but something kept me intrigued and i couldnt find the will power to stop. You deffinatley enter a new worl with this one and i will deffiantley applaud you for that. I like how you brought the India Ink into the story and repeated it. Instead of just mentioning it once. Good job clomle. EXCELLENT!

    9. i’m speechless. i cant believe how raw and honest this was.. parts were hard for me to read, not that i share often but yeh the whole cutting experience..i can see that point of view clearly..enough about tha all i have to say is you’re a brilliant write. Please dont stop writing. :)

    10. i’m speechless. i cant believe how raw and honest this was.. parts were hard for me to read, not that i share often but yeh the whole cutting experience..i can see that point of view clearly..enough about tha all i have to say is you’re a brilliant write. Please dont stop writing. :)

    11. Wow is all i can say. I am speechless. Very sad and touching. Excellent writing. Makes me wonder what goes on in people mind. Kind of scary come to think about it.

    12. Wow is all i can say. I am speechless. Very sad and touching. Excellent writing. Makes me wonder what goes on in people mind. Kind of scary come to think about it.

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