The Stalker

I watch her. Daily. I know her routines and I know when she goes to sleep. I stand on the street, hidden in the shadows, but I see her. I see how she pulls her curtains close. Does she know that I can still see her? I see her silhouette undress. The shirt that glides off her shoulders and how she shakes her head. Her hair falls in long waves down her shoulders. I see how she unclasps her bra and I wish it would be me doing it. But I am doomed to stay in the shadows. Her nipples are erect tonight. Is she aroused or is it cold in her bedroom? I would like to taste them. I am sure she is very sensitive and it would make her moan. She pushes down her skirt and I long to see her like that. One day I will. I won’t hide forever. Once not that long ago, I worked up all my courage and asked her for the time when she passed me on her way home. Her icy blue eyes stared at me as if I was the scum attached to her Manolo Blahniks. Her slender fingers brushed the cuffs of her stylish trench coat back and revealed an expensive watch. She answered curtly and was gone before I had processed it. Her voice was deep and raspy. Really sexy. Ever since that day, I imagine her moan my name. Maybe even scream it in ecstasy. One day she will. I am sure about that. I wish I could see more of her than her silhouette. All too soon, she turns off the lights and her room is bathed into darkness. I wonder if she sleeps naked or if she puts something over when she turns off the lights. One day I will go upstairs and find out.

Why not today?

I managed to have a spare key to her apartment. I stole her best friend’s purse because I knew she had the key. It was too easy. I have never used it before. But I will today. Oh, this is so exciting. I am going to see the woman of my dreams soon. She will be pleased to see me and invite me to stay the night. Of course we will not sleep. We will be busy making love. Yes, making love – not fuck. She is my only real love. My soul mate. It’s a good thing I remembered to steal some chewing gum this morning at the newsstand. I put a stripe in my mouth and let the minty flavor take away the furry feeling on my tongue and teeth. It’s a struggle to chew because of the many missing teeth in my mouth. She will love that too. I can kiss her with my tongue without too many teeth in the way.

I am already on the right floor. How can she live in a building without security? Every creep can walk up and break into her home. It’s a good thing I am here to protect her. I sit in the shadows of the streetlamps every night and I wait until she turns off all of her lights. It’s just to make sure that she is alright.

Not so long ago, she had a male friend over. She tried to make me jealous. She didn’t even close the curtains. That’s how I know that she has white milky skin and the aureole of her nipples are a dark shade of red, almost brownish. She’s a natural blonde. She wanted me to see it and it turned me on so much. That’s how I know that she is waiting for me too. She put on that show for me and now I am here, putting the key in the lock and I am ready to surprise her. I try to be as silent as possible. I don’t want to wake her up just yet. I want to see her sleep, maybe inhale her scent. I am planning to cut off a little of her hair as a souvenir. She will not be pleased, but if I do it while she’s sleeping, she won’t even notice. I remember where her kitchen is and look through the drawers to find scissors. Her kitchen is not as neat as I would have expected it. The dishes from her dinner are still in the sink and there is half a glass of wine on the counter. On second thought – she must have left it for me. I drink it in one go and lick the rim of the glass. She drank out of the same glass. Some of her DNA is going over into my bloodstream now. I feel euphoric.

In the dark, I have trouble to find the right door, but soon enough, I find it. It’s not closed and I sneak in. Her breathing is calm and even. Almost hypnotizing. She is only wearing panties, the sheet that must have covered her earlier is a mess and not doing its job. I bend down over her to smell her. I want to memorize this moment. I let my nose roam over her body, paying special attention over her genitalia. The musky scent arouses me further and I stroke myself through my clothes. I can’t hold back a moan. She stirs in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up. She parts her legs and her slip moves a little to the side. I am sure she did it on purpose, because now I can see her pussy lips. I am going to taste them tonight. My cock strains against my pants and I have to free it. I let out another groan when the chilly night air blows over the precum drenched head of my dick. I imagine it to be her mouth and her breath on me.

I still clutch the scissors in my hand and remember to cut off one of her locks. When I move closer, my penis lies on her shoulder. Her hot skin and her naked body is all I can take. I stroke myself faster and come all over her breasts and shoulder. Some of my release lands on her face too. She looks good like that. She is such a beautiful woman christened with my semen. She is mine now.

She wakes up and stares at me with wide eyes. I know that they are blue. I would like to see the color again, but it’s dark in here. Her legs and arms begin to flail and a frail attempt to cover herself. I tell her that I am finally here and that I understood her invitation. I sit down on her bed and feel the mattress dip under my weight. The heat radiating from her body is palpable, even through the layers of my clothes. I run my hand over her torso and pay extra attention to her nipples. Like I predicted earlier, she likes it. She whimpers and whispers “Please, please.” her voice sounds different from when I asked her for the time, but I guess it’s because she just woke up. My hand wanders further south and comes to rest between her legs. She closes them, trapping my hand over her heated vagina. I stroke it with my thumb. She whimpers again. I let my nose roam over her neck and lick it. She tastes salty and like soap. I love it. It’s intoxicating.

She starts to move more. Almost like she is fighting. But she can’t be fighting me. I love her. She is my soul mate. She pushes me away and I lose my grip on her. She plays hard to get. I smirk at that. I love it when women do that. I get closer again, only this time she slaps me in the face. That was not nice. I only want to love her and protect her. “Get away from me.” she screams and slaps me again. I start to wrestle her on her bed and come to lie on top of her. I know that I am a heavy man. She can’t get away from me now, but she catches me off guard when her knee collides with my balls. The pain is blinding me and I course. I slap her across her face to make her see sense. The more she fights, the more I slap her, until she is finally lying still. I tell her that I put on the lights now. She isn’t protesting. I guess she understood that I am here to worship her.

What I see now is not what I have expected to see. She is full of blood. Her body and her bed are drenched in it. I look at my hands, they are colored red from her blood too. I fall down on my knees and weep. I didn’t want this. The scissors are impaled in her neck. I must have stuck them in while we were fighting.

No matter how many gushing wounds she has on her face and neck and torso, she is still a beauty. I let my hands wander across her body one last time. I want to memorize her and lock those memories inside my mind. Her skin is colder than before and it is strange that she isn’t breathing, but she looks peaceful. I will miss her, but she will be forever mine.

I get up from the floor and put my limp dick inside my pants again. It’s time to leave and hide back in the shadows. Tomorrow I will see her again. Maybe she won’t fight me as much and just lets me in. I know she wants it. I pull the scissors out of her neck and cut a thick lock of her hair off and put it inside the pocket of my coat. I don’t need the scissors anymore and drop them on the floor. One last time I kiss her red lips and squeeze her nipple. I expect her to moan, but she stays silent. She must be exhausted. Quietly, because I don’t want to wake her up, I leave her apartment.

It is dark and cold outside. I see that I forgot to turn off her lights, but she will certainly do it herself when she wakes up again. I sit down on a bench nearby and pull out the lock of her hair. It’s soiled in blood, just like my hands and clothes. But it’s okay. It’s her blood and I will put off washing it off as long as I can. It’s a part of her after all. I sniff at the hair and I have an instant boner. Freeing myself from the confines of my pants, I rub myself off.

Tomorrow I will visit her again. The thought about touching her again makes me shudder. I smell my fingers, they still hold the scent of her most intimate place. It’s enough to make me come all over my pants. I am made to love her and soon, she will see it too.


“Smile!” She reminded herself looking at her reflection in the mirror. She sighed and tried to muster a smile, but it looked more like a grimace than a smile. Her teeth showed, but her lips didn’t move and her eyes didn’t light up. She shook her head in defeat. Without sparing herself a second glance, she slipped into her daily evening routine. She brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She washed her face and removed the remnants of her make-up. The cotton piled up on the edge of the sink. The reflection caught her eye again. She propped her arms up on the sink and lowered her head. “Smile. Your life could be worse.” She told herself, but she didn’t believe the words she heard, even if it were her own. Or maybe just because it were her own. “Shut up!” She demanded, lifting her chin in defiance. “What do you know anyway? You have no idea. I am single – again, or still. I am out of work. My car broke down. Everything is falling apart. Why am I even here? Nobody cares if I am dead or alive.” Angry tears ran down her cheeks and fell down in the sink. They rolled down and vanished in the drain, effectively concealing that the tears had ever existed.

“Do you really think so? There are many reasons to smile. At least you are alive and have a roof over your self-pitying head.” The conversation with herself took another turn.

Keeping her hands on the sink, she sank down on her knees. She started sobbing. “I don’t want to be here. Nobody loves me anyway.” Here words were drowned out by the heavy sobs and the way she gasped for air. Shaking herself, she took a deep breath and got up again. She faced herself in the mirror, hating how pathetic she looked. Snot was running out of her nose and over her lips. Her eyes were red and swollen, the lashes wet from her tears. With her hand, she wiped away the snot under her nose and washed her hands with soap afterwards.

“You have to love yourself before anyone else can.” She tried to pull herself up with quotes and positive memes she had read on the internet.

“There isn’t anything lovable about me.” Her voice was but a whisper. She shook her hands and drops of water landed on the mirror.

“You are smart and beautiful. Witty and you have a great sense of humor. You have good manners and you are intelligent.” The woman in the mirror told her.

“I am a smart ass and a nerd who can only talk about music and movies.” She countered.

“See it as a gift.”

“Did you know that gift in German translates to poison?” A small smile tugged at her lips this time.

“I am just too tired to fall down this dark and lonely pit again and again.” She admitted and looked herself straight in the eye. She straightened her stance and brushed her hair out of her face to pull it into a loose ponytail.

“Smile. Think positive. A positive attitude makes your life positive.” She snorted. “Get out of my brain, Jon.” Another smile crept up on her face. She had met Jon on Twitter and he posted many positive and inspirational tweets every day. She wanted to live more like him and take him as her role-model, but she couldn’t see her life and herself in a positive light most days. She dried her face with a soft towel and left the bathroom. Jon made her happy and every day, she waited for his tweets to show up in her timeline. Some days, Jon would include personal messages just for her.
She pulled her knitted cardigan closer around herself and shivered. It was end of October and it started to cool down outside.
Before long, she emerged from the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of hot tea in her hands and sat down in her favorite armchair. It was set close to the windows that had a view over the park.
The leaves were turning beautiful shades of orange, red and yellow. She looked at her phone, begging silently for a notification or a message to pop up on her screen. She took a sip of her green tea and let her gaze roam over the beautiful landscape.

“Bad attitude, I apologize.” Said her phone and vibrated in her hand. A new message from Jon. “Do you love the fall as much as I do?” He asked and she debated how to answer and if she should answer at all.

She knew two kinds of fall. The one she had felt mere moments ago in the bathroom. It had made her heart heavy and her thoughts dark. Sadness was like a warm and comforting blanket when she experienced a fall like that. She hated that fall. The other fall, with the colorful leaves, the days which became shorter and the nights that became longer – that was the fall she loved.
Another tweet made her phone vibrate. We all deserve happiness. She agreed and pushed the little star to favorite these four simple words.

Her mood was rising.

She was not complicated. Sometimes all it took to get her back on track was a song or a quote or a message from the right person. Jon was the right person. Every message that he sent and every tweet he published made her fall in love with him a little more. She took another deep breath and drank another sip of her tea. Maybe the conversation with herself had been right and good. Maybe she was lovable after all. This time, her fall had been stopped before she had hit rock bottom.
She opened her email client and started typing a message.

Dear Jon,

I like the fall, but not to fall…

©Catherine Micqu

book tip: An Unknown Island by T E Morris

There is this really talented guy who can seem to do everything in arts (music, writing…) and who puts a lot of work and dedication in everything. A lot of time too. Usually, he is singer/songwriter, either solo or with his band Her Name Is Calla. I’m talking about T E Morris of course and he has a new very exciting project.
He combines writing a novel, with a soundtrack and animated shorts. (not the ones to wear… the ones to watch!! Sorry there must have been something in my tea this morning.)

The writing is effortless and reading while listening to the soundtrack, that makes for a whole new reading experience. I just felt that I was in the story. It’s special and it’s really good. There is a flow to the story, even if the first chapter packs a lot of information, but first chapters need to be packed and grip the readers and this certainly left me wanting for more. You see, I am a visual reader and I need to see the words of the writer to engage in the characters and I certainly did so in this chapter

‘An Unknown Island’ is set generations into a new ice age and follows two characters as they traverse the length and breadth of an inhospitable landscape.

A young, pregnant Gwen and a quiet, partially maimed Owen, both bear physical and mental scars. Ejected from their community, they are led on by bizarre dreams and visions that will take them farther than anyone has travelled in decades, towards a predestined fate.”

Get it here:

This is something special and unique and we can be a part of it. The writing and the music are by T E Morris, the artwork is by Ana Stefaniak, who also did the animation on his song Provenance.

I am curious to see where this project will lead, are you going on that journey with me?

the love of a family

Mirror mirror on the wall

do you really expect me to fall.

All their lies

and their despise,

We used to be a family

Now they chose me as the preferred enemy.

I am breaking underneath their blame

it burns me like a blazing flame.

They are not right

and this time I will fight.

I didn’t make her sick

they can beat me with a stick

but I will stand tall

I am not going to fall.

I am not to blame

this ceased to be a game.

They broke me as a child

and said that I was wild.

They left me scared and damaged

it’s still a wonder to see; all that I’ve managed.

It’s starting anew

bruising me black and blue.

I can’t understand why

and believe me, I do try.

They say my biggest mistake was to be born

looking at me with their scorn.

I never wanted this

where is the much advertised bliss?

I’m broken and still breaking

how much more am I supposed to be taking?

They make me cry and curse and want to scream

Wake me up from this bad dream.

But this is my reality , my life

and their words hurt me worse than did my knife.

Waiting for the day

“Come to me…” She heard the whispered words again and again. She saw the hand reach out for her and she tried to grab it. But it was in vain. Her fingers never touched the ones that were outreached to her. She saw the despair in his face and tried harder to get to him, but the last inch to be there, grab him and cling to him was always missing.

Startled, she woke up. Drenched in sweat and tears. She had had this dream so many times before and each time it became realer and more intense. She wanted to be with him, that was all she knew and cared about. The yellow streetlights illuminated her dark room, casting gloomy shadows on the ceilings. It didn’t appease her. A storm was raging outside and branches of the large tree in front of her window whipped against the glass. It made for a frightening soundtrack of the night. She laid down again and punched her pillow a couple of times, until it had the desired shape and turned to the side. She never closed her eyes. They stayed glued on the window. She was waiting for him. She waited for the familiar shadow to appear.


“Come to me…” He whispered the words in her ear, trying to soak in her familiar scent. She was asleep and didn’t hear him. He reached his hand out to touch her and she tried to touch him too, but it was to no avail. As much as he wanted to feel her skin against his own for one last time, it was impossible. He couldn’t hide the pain he felt and he knew that she saw it. He tried harder to reach her, but the last inch to grab her and take her with him was always missing. 

Her time hadn’t come yet. And until then, he had to wait and be patient. He visited her every night, but on one particular night every year, she could see him. He sat on the windowsill and listened to the storm while he watched her sleep with her eyes wide open.


She saw him. He sat on the windowsill with a smile on his face. Occasionally, he looked outside as if in deep thought and when his head turned back to face her, she thought she had seen a frown. This night, this particular night was always the same for her and she loved and dreaded it alike. It was the night he was back and her dreams seemed so much realer than every other day. Days prior, she didn’t sleep, because she waited for him to appear. She wished he would stay longer than only that night and she wished he would talk to her. Instead he sat there and watched her. It was all a dream. A hallucination. That’s what they said. But she knew better.


He smiled at her and watched over her. Occasionally, he looked outside and it reminded him of that fateful day years ago.

He had been drunk after the party. He shouldn’t have walked home in his state, but he had also known that he was in no shape to drive. She had called him on his phone and he had slurred that he loved her. He had wanted to see her and took a shortcut through the woods. It had been raining that night and dark. Really dark. He had started to run with an unknown urge to be with her and then, it had happened. He had fallen down a slope and he had hit his head on a rock. When he had woken up, he had laughed because he had known that the fall could have killed him.

And it had, but he hadn’t known until he had realized that the lifeless body he been staring had been his own. It had happened so fast. A light tunnel had grabbed him and he had fought to stay and go see her one last time, but the force that had taken him from this earth was stronger than everything else he had ever experienced. He had made a deal with the invisible force. He had stopped struggling, but only because he had been granted one last wish; to see her on that day. And he had been granted that wish. He came back. Every year until it was the time to finally take her hand and take her with him.


The night was fading and the storm was calming down. The shadows on her ceiling slowly vanished, but he was still there and she kept watching him. In her mind, she told him that she loved him and that she missed him. In her mind she told him everything she wanted him to know. She didn’t react when there was a knock on the door. She knew what would be happening next. A woman in a lab coat bent over her and pushed her hair out of her face. He smiled at her and waved, then he blew her a kiss and she saw him say “I love you” but she didn’t hear the words. She blinked and he was gone. The woman who had entered obscured the view to the window now and helped her sit up.

“It’s time for your pills honey.” Two cups were put in front of her and she obediently emptied them both before she opened her mouth to show that everything was gone.


The nurse patted the patient’s shoulder and retreated. She key locked the door again once she was outside and sighed. Halloween was always the worst day for this patient. It had been five years now, since she was with them and although she was better on most days, on October 31st, she was suicidal and had to stay in lockup for her own safety. She had never talked about the events that had ended her in this institution, but the nurse didn’t need to hear the details. She knew that only love could make someone loose their mind, the way this woman had.


I wrote this for a Halloween themed collection. I am no fan of zombies or that day in general and I came up with this. Halloween reminds me of the actor River Phoenix, who died on October 31st 1993. So I guess this story is a little dedicated to him.


it’s all unsaid

And you want to scream and shout but all you manage is a shrug of your shoulder, a disappointed look and you accept defeat once again.

If you only knew how to break out of that unhealthy relationship, tell him to go f@#$ himself and release you, but you stay silent and swallow the hurt.

Again and again and again.

He doesn’t even see how much you break inside each time you’re used like this, but as long as you keep your mouth shut nothing will change.

And so you take a deep breath and shout as loud as you can YOU ASS, YOU BASTARD, YOU STINK AND YOU ARE UGLY, YOU LITTLE SHIT AND HUGE FUCKER and you smirk…

But it was all in your head. It’s all unsaid.


Dedicated to the “pretend friends” who treat you like shit all the time and you still love them to bits and would go through hell for them.

And when, then, I’ll be

And when everything falls apart
And when nothing is real anymore
And when something unexpected happens
I’ll be your rock in a storming sea
I’ll be the truth in your reality
I’ll be the glue that fixes the broken shards again

And when you feel like a failure and unloved
I’ll be there and give you my love and make you see how many things you’ve achieved and how beautiful you are.