Journal 1:Intense. Her gaze is intense. It stares into my soul with the bloodshot glow of a hidden sapphire. No smile fills the library. Fluttering behind her is a trail of gold, moving like a butterfly. But even through her beauty there is pain. A pain so excruciating it defies words. Her life story was visible through her expression. Her features reflect hardships that are emotionally endured, and negative for the soul. Dangerously exposed, it was open to me, a stranger. At this moment the decision is made. How could it be any simpler? She must smile, her torment must end.
Journal 2:
Without a glance from my victim, a daily routine is etched in my mind and even the fiber of my muscles. She is too preoccupied with her laptop and French-Vanilla espresso to notice me ferociously stalking in the nearby shadows. Every move she makes sends an overwhelming wave of desire through me. It sends me near a pounce, but patience is key. There is a saying “live in the now”, but in order to be clean and orderly, time must be taken. No mess. She must be analyzed, so the moment must be satisfying and bright. Not dark and resented. It is necessary to know her life to know how to end the agony correctly.
Journal 3:
Interestingly enough she seems well off. But it’s her lack of soul that is killing her. She doesn’t have any friends. Well maybe, if you count the barista at the Starbucks that has memorized her order, or the secretary at her accounting firm, friends. She doesn’t have any family; there hasn’t been a heartwarming phone call, a long gaze at a photograph, nothing. She doesn’t connect with herself; she doesn’t heed a quote, she doesn’t practice yoga, and doesn’t even pause for a deep breath. She doesn’t have a connection with nature either, not even the strong gust of a natural wind can swirl through her hair, or whisper in her ear. Her lonesome form draws me toward. But it is clear that by meeting me she would be spooked and access to her would be denied.
Journal 4:
Her smiles need to shine in a blissful way. Not that fake smirk she flashes when she wants to be left alone. The one she uses so often when she’s working. Now my goal for her is to smile. Without a doubt her life seems perfect to an outsider. No bothersome people or animals, good job, natural beauty, etcetera, etcetera. But seeing past this shell, this material, exposes her blank spirit. Suffering through this loneliness will tear her apart. It’s impossible to just stand here in the street and watch her downward spiral.
Journal 5:
For some reason my doubts about this are appearing. And so close to THE day, too. So… what’s her value to me? Hah, everything at this point. Without a real job she caught my bored, wandering eye. And some force draws me to her. With all of potential she has, her spirit cannot go to waste. My conscience told me that her life needs an improvement. My nurturing character wants to fix her, but my problem-solving mind only knows one way to resolve her issue. Peering into her life story reveals even a childhood of aloofness. My wish for her is to be joined with others, like my past. But of course it seems that associating with others is not in my forte. It is! It just so happens that at the moment my location is new and the housewarming has not occurred. Once this event is over, and her soul is satisfied, there will be a shift into normal daily life. This park down the street from her apartment will be my reservation. My goal is to blend in, like in every other place that was my home.
Journal 6:
It’s getting worse. She broke down last night, her tears dropped onto the tiles like glass. Her shell finally burst from the pressure. The families passing by the wall of windows at her work catch her interest. The way she stares at jovial couples with their hyperactive children exposes her longings. She wants to feel as good as lovers can, as surprised as a toddler, or even as satisfied as a dog with a bone. Maybe those longings will be realities in her afterlife, because isn’t that what we are supposed to be when we’re dead? Happy? Drifting into eternal awe, after escaping this cruel world? Rather than just going through the motions, my belief is that she will feel every good thing possible.
Journal 7:
It’s so good to feel at home, the longings in my chest to help her are satisfied, and my nerves are at rest. This morning my steps were in haste, not in a rush, but in excitement. She had been reaching up for some potato chips in the pantry when the blade slid in. It felt more satisfying than the pressure of metal over the pulsing veins of my wrist that had been experienced in my younger years. The action required more effort than my previous beliefs, but she was calm. She must have come to terms with her life ending. A thought only played out by the most solemnly desperate. Even more pleasing than the thrust of the edge, was the bittersweet contortion of her face. It beamed with amusement. She was smiling, because her torment had ended.
