I’m not a stalker. Not really. I just like to know about people.
Are you honestly telling me that you don’t? You don’t meet someone and want to know everything about them, every little detail because they fascinate you so much? I mean, you can get the boring stuff when you first meet them. Their eyes are blue. Their hair is blonde. They live with their parents, seeing as Mum phones while she was on the train and she responded that she didn’t know what time she was going to be home for dinner.
That’s the easy part. But surely nobody is satisfied with that kind of thing. So, yeah. I got off a couple of stops early. She called up her friend while she was walking back, Tracy (who lives in Dagenham, easy enough to find after the girl had said her full name in astonishment, probably referring to the party Tracy Brackwell had attended the night before. It’s implied she went home with a stranger, known only as Ali G on his Facebook page.)
So after this, the object of my attention is still walking home. Tracy has clearly had a good night and through her profile I’ve found my affection’s name. Elise. Elise Warner, who has the sense to make her profile private at least. Always an attractive aspect of a woman, someone who knows their privacy settings.
So, I kept following her. I found out where she lived after a couple of days. Her parents names after a week. She’s got a brother in Australia and a sister in law that she gets on better with in Cardiff following their messy divorce. She works at Clifford’s Home for Dogs and has a poodle called Scruff. I’d praise her for originality, but I can only use so many sarcasm circuits at once.
But I’m not a stalker. I just wanted to know about her. The way I see it, that’s the easiest way for me to make a move. It means I won’t slip up!
Shame she ended up dead really. She was on her way home from work, I was following her when she heard a noise. She turned around, saw me, clearly thought I was going to attack her so she bolted. I ran to try and explain, she rounded a corner, I lost sight of her for ten seconds, maybe twelve.
I came round the corner and promptly threw up. It wasn’t my fault she was just… Scared. Somebody killed her.
But it wasn’t me.
The Idiot in Tin Foil