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The Voyeur
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There is a moment when things change. I cannot say what it was. I remember the days clearly. But then I remember everything if I choose to. The day starts out night. The night that the last cut is in place. Previously there has been no pattern to it, because it’s just a way to separate out the layers and find some more ink to swirl. When the swirling is done it has taken the storm inside me away and carried it out to sea in the drains. When I go to the beach, I like to go to the ones with the big storm water drain pipes. No one else goes there because of the pollution but I like to sit and watch. I imagine my blood, my ink, is mixed up in that and floating out to sea. Sometimes I like to think a shark smells it and thinks maybe I’m dinner, but he can’t find me because I’m safe up on the dunes. This time there is a purpose to my cuts although I don’t realize it until they’re all in place. First and then second, the motions have taken a week but they curl into one another and become a phrase. It is staring at my arm that night that I realize I have woven myself into this narrative too deeply. I want to be a part of their lives so badly that I have carved their initials into my arm.
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It is the start of the landslide; the beginning of the end. When the breath condenses I can no longer separate out the pieces and shed those I do not like. My memories, once a treasure of my own are betraying me. I remember things I don’t want to, and forget things that I need. For a second I cannot remember Ashley’s birthday and it burns me. A small thing but the beginning of the end. Maybe it is the air condensing more often now, for the last week, nearly every second night. Maybe it is just that I know I am lost already. This narrative was never meant to have me in it and I have tried to weave myself too deep. The second mistake I make is nearly fatal to it. I am watching them at school, hugging my books to me and leaning on the lockers. For a second I am mesmerized and they turn suddenly, catching me staring. Ashley glares at me, because I am a freak of the worst order and even she is less freakish than me. I stumble away, my head burning and my shock pouring out at being caught. I have been watching them for months without being caught. I know their class schedules, hell, I know their test scores. This is the first time I’ve been caught. I am moving in one direction but I know I need to move in the other to make it to class. I turn and try to fly past but the elbow of a boy catches me and I am flung out. The laughter at my sprawl on the floor is harsh and my visible side is suddenly glaringly obvious. I cannot turn myself invisible in this moment and it is only when she kneels down to help me that I am aware of nothing but her again. She hands me my books as I kneel up, gathering my belongings.
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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.