My Stalker

I see this guy everyday and he only serves to anger me. I don’t know what it is, but almost everywhere I turn, I either see him or know he’s there. Every time I see him, all my worst memories come to mind. I’m reminded of my failings, how I’m never going to amount to anything. People around me remind me all the time, I don’t need him to do so, too.

I’m sick of him.

When I see him, I can see he hates me, too. His eyes filled with the same malice and wrath, and it only increases my own. An endless cycle makes me afraid of how it will end.

I just want it to end.

I wonder what his problem is. Is he going nowhere just like me? Is he just lucky to work at the lowest rung of any company or made only mediocre achievements at best? He’s single and lucky to get even a friend let alone a girlfriend? Funny…I feel the same way.

That’s it.

I turned toward him as I noticed him, his movements mirroring my own. We both raised our clinched fists, wanting to send each other a message we’ll never forget. We both threw punches forward as hard as possible, our fists colliding with each other.

The glass shattered, slicing my hand and arm as it flew towards me. He finally disappeared, replace by the bare wall in front of me. My hand hurt like Hell from the various cuts and probably a few broken knuckles. I wanted to kick myself for this.

Seven years bad luck…

Why do I have to be so retarded?