Tuesday, June 28, 2016


Place: 12th place in Creative Writing

by Miriam B. Medina

It was twelve o’clock, the usual time
She came bouncing through the cafe door
Her full breasts stretching her blouse,
Skin-tight pants, high heels, dressed like a whore.
She felt quite nifty at age fifty,
As the men ogled her a long time
She was the center of attention among the younger,
Even those now long past their prime.

She liked how the men admired her,
Offering to buy her coffee every time…
To some she was their Goddess, to others a cougar,
To the Stalker, she was simply a dangerous whore.
Day after day he watched her and waited to see her
From his usual table, twenty paces from the door.
He noted her movements, he watched her from behind
He pictured her naked; her body deeply etched into his mind.

He was reeling with an erotic feeling,
He chose to indulge, not ignore
He longed for her to heat his body, dripping sex from every pore.
The cafe was alive with conversations taking place
Young lovers holding hands, dreamy smiles upon their face,
She ordered her seafood salad and a cold glass of tea
The old man in line behind her winked and said:
“A moment of your precious love is good enough for me.”

She giggled and walked away to find a table,
So the Stalker approached her and asked,
“Can I share this table with you so I can eat a bite?”
She looked up at him; the blush left her blanching cheek
He stood there waiting for her to answer,
While his spirits sank and his limbs grew weak,
She seemed to know this man from somewhere,
Which made her feel nervous and scared.

She didn’t know quite how to respond; her thoughts were oddly impaired,
Something was odd and amiss, but of what, she wasn’t aware.
Her hands shook as she stabbed the salad, taking an oversized bite.
She continued to nibble, even though she had lost her appetite.
She was starting to feel a sense of nausea, pushing her plate away
Since she was no longer hungry, there was no further need to stay
She got up and walked out, her figure looking well-formed and slim
She always managed to look fashionable, even for her daily trip to the gym.

The Stalker followed wearing glasses, a false mustache and a cap on his head
He knew her apartment and workplace, so followed her to the gym instead.
She turned her head to see if anyone was trailing behind
She kept looking over her shoulder, paranoia commanded her mind.
He watched the way her hips swayed, as she walked quickly to the gym.
Following very slowly, he knew those hips were meant for him.
He was starting to feel horny; as his hunger became strong for her body
He decided soon enough, he would take her to a private party.

He wanted desperately to explore her luscious lips
He yearned to feel her passion under the touch of his fingertips.
She arrived at the gym and quickly changed into her bikini
Drawing looks from every roving eye.
She wished she could drink several Martinis
A nervous wreck she was, but couldn’t understand why
She jumped into the pool and took her swim
While the angry stalker hid behind the hatred lying within.

She got out of the pool beckoning a man to bring her a towel
He was there by her side in a few seconds by and by
She asked for his name, he replied Richard Powell
She quickly patted and started to rub herself dry,
She asked Richard if he would get her a coffee, black
Then coyly handed him the towel to wipe her back
The Stalker became insanely jealous, clenching fists while nostrils flared,
She suddenly turned around, feeling incredibly scared.

The Stalker mentally called her a “Dangerous Whore.”
Adding that soon he would settle the score,
He said, “Your day is coming closer, you pompous whore.”
I am reeling with feelings that you just choose to ignore.
I’ll be there in the evening before the sun goes down,
Before you have an opportunity to put on your nightgown.
Enough of all this seductive dressing, of teasing men suggestively,
You are mine and only mine, and that is how it will be.

He left in anger, walking as fast as he could
He kept saying, “How can something be bad when it feels so good.”
He reached her condo and hid quickly inside
He had a hunger for her, which he could not deny
Her sandals slapped the ground as she ran speedily home.
It was a place where she felt safe even while living alone
She stepped inside examining each room,
She just wished she could relieve this sense of doom…

No signs of forced entry, so she undressed to take a bath
Still feeling tense and nervous, oblivious of the oncoming wrath.
Meanwhile as she bathed the naked Stalker waited for her on the bed
The more he fantasized, the more his sexual appetite wanted to be fed.
Suddenly the sound of the water stopped
When she opened the door, she was in shock
“OMG! It’s you, No, this can’t be,” she started to shriek
He quickly grabbed a rag and from the bed he managed to leap

Giving her a backhanded blow across her face
He shoved the rag inside her mouth,
To keep her quiet in case she should cry out.
He threw her on the bed, quickening his pace.
He tied her hands to the headboard behind her
As he slit her wrists he called her a shameless whore
“Your number is up; it’s time for me to settle the score.”
She felt his manhood throb, as he pumped his seed unmercifully into her;

He fell upon her exhausted and saw she was still alive
He asked himself vaguely,
‘How long does it take for her to die?’
Her breathing was becoming shallow,
Her lungs were fighting desperately for air.
Rejection is always hard to swallow, and often hard to understand
He said: “Life did not turn out exactly the way I had it planned.”
At that moment, his logic, his human reason, was completely gone.

“Oh Well,” he plunged the knife into her chest; saying
“Now there is nothing left of you to tease or to look down upon.”
Whatever he did he felt no remorse.
He had no regrets as he took her by force.
He quickly dressed and left, as the cougar lay murdered,
A corpse dripping blood to the floor
To everyone, she was a goddess. But to the stalker,
She was merely a shameless whore.