Literature From The Street, For The People




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The Stalker

Nonfiction by Carroll Susco

"Adam stared at me and kept staring—longer than proper etiquette allowed, long enough for my heart to break, then sprout again, long enough for desire to flush my face with blood."

Obsessive feelings are like wildfires, start so small no one notices, rage with a fury, end with a curl of smoke expanding into nothing, and one day everyone has forgotten it but you.

There are things I have done in the past that I am not proud of, that I can’t take back, that I can’t make right, for which Adam hates me. As I got sick, a voice appeared in my head, his voice. No one knew that but me. And with it came the delusion that I was to talk to my soulmate, Adam, telepathically, but he did not know he was my soulmate and that I thought we talked. No one understood the delusion but me. He didn’t understand why I threw a brick through his window, put a piece of gum on his car, a nail file on his windshield, me, an unwanted violator sending him signals I thought he would understand. I feared myself a long time. I hated me, but I had to know: was he the voice in my head? 

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