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The Voyeur
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If you lie still enough and listen you can separate out all the sounds from the atmosphere around you. I like to lie on my back with the blankets tugged firmly under my armpits at night, trying to identify each and every sound. I catalogue them in my mind and try to pick every one. My memory is near perfect. Not photographic, just near perfect. If I wish to remember something, it stays remembered. That game you play as a child where each person lists something, and the list grows, I could never lose that. They play it in the ‘get to know you’ section of camps and school. I have been here too long and we know each other so well that we never play it any more. My only talent wasted. When I lie in bed at night, still on my back like a corpse in the morgue, I listen for the insects first. Then the birds and then the sounds of the city. Second last I listen for the sounds of the world. The sounds that are everywhere, all the time; the whisper of the wind and the howl of the sky. If you listen hard enough, you can hear the clouds moving. The last thing I listen for is the first thing I listen for. It is at the edge of my consciousness and ever present. I listen for the creak on the stairs. The soft shuffling of the carpet against bare feet, and the moisture in the air as my father breathes in and out. I lay on my back listening as he moves up the hallway, silent and purposeful. I listen to the cadence of his breathing and try to guess if he will pass my door, or if he will stop. No matter how hard I try I’m still losing the bet on that one, his actions are not heralded by his breath, but in my mind I can practically see it condense in the air, even on the warmest of nights.
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From my vantage point on the branch I can see most things that go on. I am a regular visitor to the Carlin house. I can see through the kitchen window, although the angle isn’t great. I can see through the living room window, and the angle is better. The only room I can see perfectly is Spencer’s, and that’s just fine by me. There is a new person in this dance. A new character in this story we are weaving. She is beautiful, but strange. She is a constant visitor to the Carlin house but unlike me, she gets invited in and sometimes, she stays. I don’t believe in aura’s, that you can see someone’s soul glowing around them. I can’t, but I know what she’s like. I don’t need to see her aura to know that she is like stone, but broken. I have known her for years but she has never been a part of my life. Until now. So my encyclopaedia has changed. Like a pack rat I collect information as fast as possible. She is dancing in the Spencer Carlin universe and I must know her, or I won’t be able to fit her in the story. Suddenly there are two volumes, Spencer Carlin and Ashley Davies.
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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.