Content Warning: This short story includes depictions of violence and stalking behavior from the point of view of the stalker.

The sweetly surrounding sounds of the violin encompass me. Her rendition of Mozart’s Symphony No. 25 is breathtaking. It’s the first song I ever heard her play all those weeks ago. Her finger work throws shivers up and down my spine; I am both in love and completely loved all at once. She’s beautiful, everything I could ever dream for, and yet the public venue has forced such distance between us. 

The white folky dress she’s decided on today perfectly matches the musical covers of the day. Her black striped fedora sits neatly on the sidewalk in front of her, collecting the audience’s money. I’ve already slipped in all the cash from my wallet; it’s never enough. The gentle breeze gives us little hints of her floral perfume. It brings rolling hills of goosebumps up my body.

She should be working with the best composers in the world; she’s too good for me. Instead, she’s stuck to the menial task of street performer; the injustice is sickening. The disgust leaves me as I continue my passionate gazing upon this beautiful girl. I need her; she’s perfection in a human body. A well dressed man, probably an accountant, walks up and throws a handful of ones into the fedora while flashing a wink at my girl. She curtsies in response. I hate him! I want him dead! My anger is quickly resigned by an angel’s voice.

“This will be my last song of the day.” The crowd boo’s in protest of the performer’s declaration.

“I know… but the duties of a daughter call.” The beautiful performer bows.

She quickly slips into Beethoven’s Sonata No. 9. She does it in A major, my favorite. How could she have known? I feel it in my soul, this performance was meant for me. The way she moves her body while performing such music is intoxicating. My mouth feels desperately dry while my hands are drenched from the thought of her. I want to hold the hands she plays with. I must caress the hips she sways with. She will be mine.

She’s placed the fedora back upon her head, the wad of cash within her satchel, and now gently places her violin into its case like a sleeping infant. Her audience has dissipated. I stand at a safe enough distance for continued admiration. 

Her walk starts with light humming and a skip in her step that could only be connected to that of royalty. The breeze pushing against her is the perfect chance for me to get a good grasp on the scent that surrounds her. I breathe it in. Mmm… that’s jasmine and pear blossom: it’s divine. It’s like she did everything today just for me. I’ve gotten too close to her, trying to take in more of her existence. I’m now inches away, her beautiful brunette hair gently flowing. I  can’t help but reach out and gently touch it. I do it with the utmost subtlety. I almost make the mistake of fully grasping it in the throes of passion. I must be patient; the time will come.

She turns into a convenience store on the corner. I follow her in pretending to be looking for a drink. She takes her time looking through a picked through basket of flower bouquets, smelling and examining each one. She decides on a bouquet of red and white dahlias. Of course she would choose my favorite flowers. She knows me so well.

She now picks through the very poor selection of Mother’s Day cards the store carries. She goes with a minimalistic white card, which, in my opinion, has too much space for personal writings. She makes her way up to the cashier, who apparently knows her well.

“Ellie, it’s been too long. How’re you doing?” The elderly cashier says.

“I’m great Sam! Just picking up some flowers for my mom,” Ellie says.

“What a good daughter. You should teach my kids how to treat me,” Sam chuckles.

Even her name is perfect. I couldn’t have picked out a more beautiful one myself. She leaves the store after writing what I predicted was gonna be a lengthy handwritten card. I rush out, not buying anything, I can’t risk losing her. The streets have already cleared out so much with everyone going home to celebrate their mothers. Ellie strolls down the empty sidewalk, typing into her phone, which has seen better days. She holds the phone to her ear.

“Hey Sarah, just calling to say I’ll be home late. I have to make a quick stop at my parents’, only like five minutes away, though, so I won’t be too long. Love you!” Ellie sings into her phone.

Her voice leaves butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Her endless perfection breaks every wall I have down. I can’t survive with only five more minutes with her, that won’t do. Her movement is so fluid, so effortless. She’s so carefree in everything she does, it’s almost a tragedy for her to belong to such a cruel world. I want so much more for her than this horrid life. 

We’re getting close to a neighborhood now, where I’m guessing her mother lives. I speed my steps up, I have to close the distance now, or I’ll lose her forever. She notices my advances and picks up speed herself, only looking back slightly. I’m now at a speed greater than speed-walking, and with that, she goes into a dead sprint. I go for a run every morning in preparation for these moments. I’ve gotten down to an eight minute mile. I enter into a sprint in my near perfect running form.

I’m catching up to her inch by inch. She can’t keep away from my warm embrace for much longer. I’m so close, my mouth is salivating in anticipation. I crave every part of her. She is mine, and she has prepared herself perfectly for me. The floral scent, the delicate clothing, and the most beautiful playlist for this exceptional day.

I’m on her in an instant. I pull her into the nearest alley, not without struggle. She is much stronger than she appears. She dropped her bouquet and card on the sidewalk, unimportant as they weren’t for me. We’re on the ground, she’s fighting, I’m in passionate love with what’s happening. I’m finally holding her hands; the sweating of us both makes it so much better than I imagined. I get to caress her hips, beautiful hills that fit into my palm perfectly. We will finally lock into each other’s every being. She is mine, and I am hers… forever.

The Lost Mother’s Day Card:

Dear Momma,

I know we’ve had a rough go of it lately with Dad kicking me out. I just want to let you guys know that I’m clean now, I haven’t used in over a month. I have the token to prove it. I even started playing again, can’t wait for you to hear what I can do.  I love you both so much and miss you both more every day. 

I know Ronnie just went off to college, please tell him congrats for me! I’m really proud of him. We can’t ever let him go down this path. I’m so sick with myself I can’t even fully explain it. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done and said to you all. 

With All The Love In The World,

Ellie

Biography: I came to Aims looking to further my education and further my writing ability, thanks to the motivation of my wonderful partner. Writing means the world to me. I’ve been writing since I was around 13 years old and want nothing more than to publish a novel one day. My love for writing comes to me from my father, who got me interested in the art form from a very young age. When I consider myself as an artist, I like to think of myself as someone who can draw intense emotions from a reader, and that is what I strive for when I create. Many artists inspire my work and teach me to be better at my craft. Haruki Murakami, Ray Bradbury, and R.F. Kuang are three writers who create such beautiful prose that it drives me to strive for such a level of beauty in my own work. I write because something deep inside me craves it like nothing else in the world.