Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Write in the ROMANCE genre (04/19/07)
TITLE: That Stalker Thing
By Sally Hanan
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She’d sent him an e-mail, nothing heavy; she didn’t want him to think her a stalker or anything. She’d added him to her MySpace page too. He was listed in her top 8; she had taken great pains to not have him as her #1 friend – stalker thing again.
She wrapped her arms around her body, imagining that they were his. Rubbing them up and down, she wriggled in anticipation of the day when…when…
All her friends said she was crazy, that Will wasn’t interested, and that he was out of her league. She, however, knew that they shared something special. Every moment they were together his eyes melted into hers. He didn’t see the waistline, the occasional little skin eruption, the small bra size – no, Will saw her through eyes of desire too.
It wasn’t that they had ever really been “together,” but they certainly had been in her mind. A friend of a friend of a friend said that Will had a video on YouTube, and she was prone to playing the segment every time she wanted to waft into her reverie. She would turn the lights down low and sway to her favorite song with butterflies’ wing flaps in her stomach joining in.
She journaled about him too:
I saw him again today. He was dressed in these baggy jeans that hung on his torso like a god’s mantle. You know how I feel, because I tell you so often, but my heart cannot survive like this. I must see him Journal, I MUST!
And then, the day she thought would never happen, happened. She was at the hotel, serving up drinks to overrated customers, when he walked in. She just about fell into the frosted Pina Colada and then, without even knowing why, swooned behind the counter.
A deep voice sent her heart a-thumping.
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you alright? I saw you fall.” She glanced up, a deep shade of fuschia, to see his manicured outstretched hand above her permed head. Trembling, she raised her wispy hand out to his and he pulled her to her feet. His potency surged through her weak frame, and their noses almost touched – his, Romanesque, hers, snubbed.
Up close, she could see that his pupils were dilated. Could it be…? His lips spread out until she could see a hint of his white teeth. She wanted to stretch her mouth forward to press her tongue against those pearly whites, but resisted. This was only their first real rendevous, after all.
“Thank-you,” was all she could murmur, and then she set herself to cleaning up the remains of the sticky Pina Colada with an elbow grease ne’er seen before in the Driskell Hotel.
Unfortunately, this is the end of the story. Will Humphries never came back to the bar, but went on to make many other movies starring as the hunk of burning love lover. He never knew what he missed by not returning to the bar that night. Lord knows, Sophia waited long, long after the bar closed in the hope that he would show up. Her visions had fed her for so long that now that the real thing had appeared, she wanted more. More of Will was obviously, after years of hopeless hope and wasted worship, never meant to be.
Sophia has DVDs of Will’s movies in storage, along with the broken shards of coconut smelling glass (packed in pink tissue paper and the nylon stockings that she was wearing that night). She has moved on from her employment at the hotel. The memories were too hard to bear. These days, she spends her hours on her dog-haired sofa watching a newer, edgier soap opera that stars a newer, edgier hunk of explosive love. She’s only sent him one e-mail so far, posted a vague comment on his blog, and merely has him as her # 4 friend on MySpace - that stalker thing again…
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