Stalker

She was always staring at him, even in the eighth grade when I sat behind him, green with envy.

"He doesn't even know you're alive?" I snipped at her in the tenth grade when I caught her staring at him in the cafeteria.

He did not recognize either of us when we attended his lecture at Harvard. I couldn't have cared less what the new advances in pediatric neurosurgery were, but I went at her insistence.

I stand on the walk and give them distance, as she places red roses on his grave.

Tonight, I finally have her to myself.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes