Scarred by a Stalker

By Kelcie McKenney

Many things in life can be considered scary, like bugs with lots of legs, horror movies that leave your skin crawling, or hearing weird noises when you’re alone in the dark. But these things are predictable or easily solved. It wasn’t until recently, when my safety was at risk because of another person, that I discovered the feeling of true fear.

Over the past year, I have been trying to live my life around a constant fear, one that permeates my job and career, my personal relationships, my home life, and even my plans for the future. Every aspect of my life was changed because of one thing: a stalker.

This person, let’s call him Jack, taught me true fear. Now, I’m not hiding his name to protect his identity, but rather I want you to know this story doesn’t have to do with him and his actions—it’s about how it affected me.

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A Glass of Filtered City Water

By Abigail Rommel

Letter to any readers that might stumble upon this:

I write this antidote in present tense because of how current the story still feels to me, no matter how long ago it was.

It’s Sunday night, and I can’t sleep, which rarely happens. But, the A.C. is out, so I’m not surprised. I decided to perform my can’t-sleep ritual of sifting through my friend list on Facebook, and creeping on the profiles of each person I wonder, “What happened to so-and-so.” It’s good fun, and it settles my racing mind.

This time, I scrolled and saw a friend who I haven’t seen in ages—last year. For most, that’s not long at all, but then it suddenly dawns on me that it feels like forever because it is forever.

She’s gone.

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When you SEE someone who might need help, you DO something.

By Nicolette Clairmont

Yesterday on the bus, a drunk guy kissed me on the neck. He was in the process of being kicked off. Once off, he yelled something at me through the window and licked it, leaving a 4-inch-long saliva streak in the dust.

Prior to that, he had sat next to me and bothered me for 30-40 minutes.

This dude was a 44 year old (he told me), 6’5 (he told me), ex-convict (17 years in prison, he told me) with a large scorpion tattoo on his neck and what appeared to be knife scars all over his face. He punctuated every sentence with a loud, “the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?” and frequently took pulls from the bottle of rum in his coat. Continue reading