Everywhere I go there is a man watching me, photographing me, hiding from me. I never really see him, but I always sense he is there. Flashes of a tilted head with a black, large rimmed hat. Always watching with a sinister leering smile. I get angry about it - yet, I'm oddly thrilled by it, too. The idea of being on display, on exhibition, secretly viewed from afar is a dark pleasure. He doesn’t know that I know he watches me every night. I can’t resist the urge to stand in the window, my silhouette lit from behind. I could close the curtains, but that wouldn’t be much fun.
I'm living with my parents in a house I don't recognize. Mom is giggling with a glass of wine, Dad is solemnly watching TV. It is late, the bewitching hour...pitch black outside except for the glow of the moon. I go to my bedroom upstairs. Along one wall of my bedroom, it's nothing but windows with floor to ceiling glass looking out at a dense forest. Dark, gloomy fir trees. That's where he watches from. I’ve seen his cigarette glow, cherry red in the inky night. The waft of smoke carried on the whispered breeze. The power and control of knowing he’s waiting for me to make an appearance. I'm going to pull this stunt to show him that I know he's watching me. Mom yells for another glass of wine, too lazy to get her own, but I tell her I'll be a few minutes. It’s my " our " time now.
My brother, Joesph’s, room is next to mine and connected by a door like a hotel room suite. I need the digital camera for my event, but it's in his room. I go into his room and run into him. He's very young...like when we were kids, never maturing beyond age 12. He's holding a toy train and telling me all about it. Gesturing excitedly, he has no idea I’m not listening. I’m focused on my goal. Get the camera to put on my play. His room has a huge plywood table made to run his trains on, but it's empty except for one train car sitting on the table. The wood is bare. He leaves and I grab the camera and shut off all the lights in his room, leaving him in the dark. He seems to vanish in thin air. Not a peep to be heard, nor a complaint.
Tiptoeing back to my room, I set up the camera on a tripod. thinking that I can get a picture of him this time The flash will illuminate him watching me. Maybe I’ll finally see his face, know the visage that watches me every night. I take off my t-shirt...just in my black lace bra. I handcuff my hands in front of me. Submissive, but seductively aware, I turn off all the lights and sit in a chair at the windows.
I am him. I can feel his excitement. The dark energy swirling about like a black devil cloud, tendrils caressing my cheek. I can see through his glossy black eyes. I see myself at the windows in my bedroom, the moonlight casting a glow about me. It's bluish, pulsing light. My eyes are downcast and I look lost, submissive, alone. I see that I put my hands in the window and notice the handcuffs. The chains. And I'm him, excited, salivating, wanting. Turned on. Laughing, but tender. I can feel the knowing grin breaking the planes of my " his -face.
I flip between the two...I'm her feeling her anger, yet her silent surrender. I'm him and I feel the low thrum of his excitement. His pulse. His darkness. He's turned on and wants her. But he just watches. Silently.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
