DiAnn Mills @DiAnnMills
While teaching a creative writing class to a group of high school students, I challenged them to write a flash fiction story. Sam won the competition.
Sam is a junior at Colonel Crawford High School in Ohio. After graduation, she plans to study forensics and hopeful for a career in that field. She is active in National Honors Society and FCCLA.
I’m sure you’ll enjoy her story as much as I did.
Him
At first, I wanted to get rid of him. Now, I just want to know who he is. He’s always following me. Making sure I never have a moment alone. He watches me from a distance usually. Though I prefer the times he gets up close. I like looking at his eyes. They make me feel less alone.
Throughout the years, I’ve watched him. His sanity slowly deteriorated as he stalked me. He is mad now. Completely insane. I’ve watched him slowly lose his mind. A long time ago, he was a normal man. Well, as normal as a man who stalks someone can be. Now, he is mad. Insane. His mind runs miles a minute. Just like mine. I fear I might lose myself in this mystery. Not knowing who he is will drive me mad if it hasn’t already. I need to know who he is.
When he looks at me, he is afraid. I should be the one afraid, and I am. He follows me everywhere. Never leaving me alone. I have a lot of questions, but he never answers. He never speaks.
His eyes show more than just fear. There are times he’s not afraid. Times where he doesn’t seem to care about anything. Those are when his eyes are empty and shallow. I’d find myself fearing the look he had after I saw it. But when our eyes meet, all I can think about is how his eyes look like mine. Maybe that’s why I’m afraid afterward. Because he’s like me.
I can only imagine why he is following me. I’ve tried to ask but he only mocks me. I think, like me, he feels alone. He feels like there is no one who understands him. No one except for me. That’s why I don’t mind his company. He makes me feel less alone. He is the only one I can trust. In the rare moments he isn’t following me, I feel cold and empty. Like something is missing. I hate that feeling. I avoid that feeling.
He’s good at stalking me. So I rarely feel empty. He doesn’t like leaving me alone. He even managed to get into my house. He watches me sleep. I don’t mind though. Not anymore. I used to. There was a time where I couldn’t go to sleep because I was terrified of him. I still am but I knew he wouldn’t do anything. He just stares at me. He’s always staring.
One time, I flipped him off. He did it right back. I think he was mocking me. He does that a lot. He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him. I like what he represents. I like that he makes me feel less alone. But I don’t like him. He’s a jerk.
I think he and I might be related. Besides our emotions, we have a lot in common. We have the same hair and clothes. He likes the same foods. He’s afraid of nearly everything, just as am I. We both isolate ourselves from society. I think it’s easier to be alone even though I hate being lonely. He thinks the same thing. At least I think. I can’t read minds.
There’s a chance we aren’t related. He follows me every day. He knows more about me than I do. What if he just wants to be me? I find this thought rather sad. This would mean we are nothing alike. It would mean he is a great actor who doesn’t feel what I feel. People say imitation is the greatest form of flattery. I’d disagree. I don’t want him to pretend to be me. I want him to be like me. I want someone to relate to.
What if he’s doing all of this to get me to trust him? It’s elaborate and risky. It definitely wouldn’t be the smartest plan to get someone to trust you. Who would trust someone who is following them? I did. So maybe it isn’t that dumb after all.
His eyes don’t give away anything. All I see is the same paranoia and fear I always see. Neither of us dares to break eye contact. Both of us are trying to find something. I want to know who he is. Maybe if I found out, he would answer my other questions. Like, why does he sleep in an identical bed across from mine? I found that rather weird. It also supports my theory of him trying to be me. I don’t want that theory to be true.
He understands me. He does. There’s no way he doesn’t. I don’t like feeling alone. He doesn’t either. He isn’t faking this. I know he isn’t. We both are lost souls, waiting to be fixed. We both may be broken. But we are broken together. We have each other and that’s enough.
I thought I needed to know who he is. Maybe if I knew his name then I’d remember. But I don’t. I don’t need a name because I already know who he is. I know his personality. His fears and likes. I know how he feels because I feel the same. We are like each other. Our names are not important. I know who he is without a name.
The door to our bedroom creak open but neither of us dare to look at who enters the room. We knew it’s Molly. My daughter hired her after Eleanor, my wife died. I don’t like Molly. She doesn’t believe I’m being followed, yet she knows he is in the bed across from mine. She ignores him. I don’t think he likes her either. Molly isn’t nice.
“Mr. Tafakari.” She sighs. I know what she is going to say. She always says the same thing. She’s trying to convince me he’s not following me, but I know better. Molly continues, “You’re staring at the mirror again.”
Sam, thanks for your story. Keep writing!
