Mr. Barns

I have often watched Mr. Barns watch me. He had been my backdoor neighbor for nearly a decade. He's also been watching me for nearly a decade. As a young girl of nine I can recall sitting outside with my girlfreinds, eating ice cream sandwhiches or playing kickball in the yard, and having Mr. Barnes, working, or pretending to work, on his garden as he leered at us from afar. The days where we'd play in the pool were the most uncomfortable for me. I knew he was watching and even as a little girl I knew it wasn't right. I never liked the way I'd ride my biycycle around the block, and be followed by the eyes of Mr. Barns as I passed his house while he grabbed the mail. No, I didn't enjoy that the first time. and I certainly didn't enjoy it the other thousand times.

 

And now here I am, a young woman of 16, being watched yet again, by Mr. Barns. I'm sitting on my patio, reading a text for my literature class, and there he is in all his creepy glory staring. Staring and staring and staring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Not finished.