Fan Fiction
This story has been set to a rating of . Age verification is required to proceed.
The Voyeur
Login to add story to favorites
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this post.
Loading ...
******************************************************
I am standing in front of my mirror, with nothing but a pair of underwear and a bra on. It is a game I play with myself sometimes. I hold my breath, sucking it in until my ribs poke out and I look like a barrel has crept into my thorax. My diaphragm is sucked down but my stomach goes in because I choose to breathe deep in my chest and create a concave abdomen. I hold this, standing still as possible, until the world is rimmed in grey stars and my chest burns so much I think I might die. At the last possible moment before I pass out, I breathe again. This time I play a game in my head. It’s a new game for me, but one that will be played over and over until I mistime it and faint. This game is called: How Many Spencer Carlin’s Can I Say In My Head Until I Have To Breathe Again. I make it to forty before the lights go out.
******************************************************
There is a tree opposite Spencer’s house that is lush with foliage. If you climb into it with care, there is a branch, hidden from the view below and around, but with a direct line of sight to her bedroom. Only I know this. Only I come here. The binoculars dangle from my hand but the cord is wrapped securely around my wrist. They are my totem, my scanning point, so I cannot let them go. Without them I would be alone.
******************************************************
I have seen her now for weeks. I am invisible, the ghost of King High, but she is everywhere. My encyclopaedia grows in size daily, and I know more about her than anyone else. Of this I am sure. My ability to fade into the shadows is my greatest gift and one I have trained to perfection. I know where she lives, and who she sees. I know the names of her family, their jobs and their car license plates. I am like a stalker, only I can’t be. I do not want her to see me; I do not want her to know me. I write nothing down; it is all in my head; The Lexicon of Spencer Carlin. I would never hurt her, but have no illusions, she is all I think about day and night. I would never touch her. So a stalker I may be, but one with care and one with sense, because I do not wish to scare her. I watch her daily and revel in her new friendships. They make her smile and laugh, and I laugh too. They make her happy. I would not have guessed at her chosen group, the outcasts of the outcasts and a jock of the first order. But they are making an easy time of it and she is happy. I am like Scout, watching the red sweater weave its way through blind man’s bluff and joining in the secret games and revelry. The similarity is then lost because I have nothing else in common with my favorite book. Its pages are worn and the cover is curved because I keep it in my pocket all the time. I have it everywhere, and have read it so much I can quote it from heart. It was my first narrative, the first story I threaded myself into and became a part of. Now it sits with me, a part of the new story I am weaving.
Comments
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
It’s raw, it’s true, it’s human…..It’s beautiful. Bravo!!
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.
I REALLY LOVE this story, it reads like poetry. It was incredibly vivid but at the same time leaves so much to the imagination.
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
It’s raw, it’s true, it’s human…..It’s beautiful. Bravo!!
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.
I REALLY LOVE this story, it reads like poetry. It was incredibly vivid but at the same time leaves so much to the imagination.
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
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
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
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!
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!
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. :)
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. :)
YAY! You posted it! And quickly! Hoorah, hoorah! Yes, this is a very dark and sad piece, but it’s wonderfully written and I love it. Cheers!
YAY! You posted it! And quickly! Hoorah, hoorah! Yes, this is a very dark and sad piece, but it’s wonderfully written and I love it. Cheers!
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.
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.