Ezra Lynn: A Short Story

His breath was cold and shallow, a soft smoke escaping his mouth every time he managed to take a full lungful of air. The man stared downward at his dark, brown shaded hand, trembling softly. He caught ahold of himself, and focussed back at the window, slightly covered in a layer of frost. The drapes, normally a vibrant burgundy tone, were pulled away, allowing him to catch sight of the woman he was after. Ezra Lynn. So many times he had watcher the woman walk in and out of the old, redwood door, but never once did he make the move that he had been yearning for. Months have passed since he started stalking the girl, this young woman, deprived of hope or care. Yet, there she was, still sitting in her home, alone, mocking him. Mocking him with
He was committed to learning everything about her. The things she loves, the things she fears, everything that causes pain in her life. He has been following her for months, going on three years. They have met, on many occasions, face to face, under very different circumstances. Yes, she knew what he looked like. Ezra knew him by name and could identify them from a mile away. She was never afraid, never terrified, at least, not as much as he had hoped she would have been. He followed her to and from college, to the cafe when she was with friends, anywhere she decided to go, he was always two steps behind her. In the end, though, it was no use. He had done the worst things imaginable to the brown-headed woman. He could see the images of her blood, her screams, all of the pain he had caused her, skipping through his head like a slideshow. He grinned at the thoughts of her pain, he always found himself overjoyed when he was able to remember all of the time that he had hurt her. It was a game to him, one he knew well, one he loved. His happiness, however, faded away as a long-passed memory entered his mind. One that haunted him, like a never ending cloud of black that only goes away when she either admits defeat, or gives up, and sees that he is the fabric of human horror from a blanket of logical fear. She spoke five words, five simple words that had cut him from the inside out,
She was dressed in pajamas, wearing deep purple sweatpants and a white hoodie, which hung off of her stomach lazily. Of course, he had seen that hoodie before, many times. It was previously her ex-boyfriends, who gave it to her sometime last year. He watched as the boy hurt her, lied to her, cheated on her, and eventually began to corrupt her and make her feel like she was worth less than she really was because of her psychological impairments. The killer knew that he should have smiled at the thought of her misfortune, knowing it was natural for him to feel happy at the sight of others pain, but the happiness would not