Writing Prompt

**I wrote two separate stories for this prompt, so there will be two here! **🙃

**Story #1**

**POV #1: Stalker (Alex)**

As she made her way down the street, I followed in pursuit trying my best not to lose sight of her in the crowd. That wasn’t exactly hard though, in my eyes, she always stuck out. She was a precious treasure in my eyes, and that’s why I so desperately wanted her to be mine. ...

You make my blood boil.

My blood pumps like boiled water.

My mind goes to fire.

I’ll be watching you.

My tentative eyes watch you.

No escaping me.

I always freeze up.

My legs stop when your around.

I can’t escape you.

There’s no stopping me.

Want a taste of your sweet blood.

Let my fangs seep in.

If that’s what you want.

Go ahead take my sweet blood.

Just promise to leave.

I gladly will de...

G: I rush through the narrow alleyway, quiet but hurried, trying to get there before he does. I have one hand on my knife, the other guiding my way through the night.

S: “Oh, Gisela, you don’t know what’s in store, do you?” I hiss, watching her think she’s so smart, planning to kill me as I try to steal her money. Not so fast.

G: What was that? Movement flickered in the corner of my right eye. I...

**The Watcher**

It was raining. Heavy drops fell from the edges of the streetlamp, masking the glow like a misty veil. From the shadows of a half-destroyed brick wall, I waited, unnoticed, invisible. She always took this route home. Always.

I didn’t know her name—not yet. She was “the woman in the green scarf,” or maybe “the one with the light steps.” She floated, unaware of the world around her...

Whack! Janey’s hip caught the edge of the entryway table. Her pale grey skin split like a ripe plum and lemon yellow gel glistened in the cut. Looking over her shoulder, she had been hurrying into the house. A creeping fear stoked her steps. Janey applied pressure to seal the wound.

Jarred, a delft print bowl wobbled over spilling potpourri on the tabletop and floor. The bowl smacked a ceramic ...

---

**Elias Hawthorne’s Voice**

I watched her first with gentle eyes,

A governess with quiet ties.

Her life, so simple, neat, and small,

Yet in her heart, I felt a call.

Her grace, her smile, they beckoned me,

A mystery I longed to see.

At first, I hid, I followed near,

A shadow lost in quiet fear.

But soon, that fear gave way to need,

A hunger planted like a seed.

Throug...

Perspective one: Elias Hawthorne

perspective two: Arabella Sinclair

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Arabella Sinclair, a gentle grace,

Lives in order, in a quiet place.

At twenty-two, her world is small,

A governess, she minds the call.

With lessons, chores, and market’s plea,

She yearns for life beyond what she sees.

A restless longing, a silent door,

She dreams of something, something more. ...

“Taxi!” I wave my arms down trying to flag a taxi cab down, but unfortunately at this time of night most of them are not in service. Lucky me. I really need to leave work earlier from now on since it’s getting dark quicker. Thank you time change! I wrap my jacket closer to me, walking briskly in the direction of my apartment. The cool, night air blows against my neck, but the chill stays long afte...

I’ve always hated the night. The way the crisp air freezes my nose hairs and the once warm breeze transforms into well managed blades. The silence of the night echoes and every noise holds its five seconds of fame. The shuffling of bags as I pass an alley. The buzzing gnats that fly above my head into the street lamps. The repetive thump from behind me.

Those heavy footsteps have been behind me ...

If you were to ask me about my greatest comfort, I would answer that watching the world go by from my bedroom window just before I go to bed is pretty high on my list. It’s something akin to watching a flame’s slow dance. These souls, like specks of fire, coming into and disappearing out of your peripheral vision. And these vehicles, these lights, when watched from a distance, seem to be animated ...