The House of Mourning – Eliza

I’m at the funeral of the great aunt of not the first girl I’d ever had a crush on, but the first one that I’d ever stalked.

Back then, her mother had noticed my interest in her and would have conversations with me that made me feel uncomfortable. I remember telling a good friend at the time about my feelings. He promptly got involved in a relationship with her, and began telling all of our mutual friends that I was jealous.

I was not jealous. I was disappointed having wasted all of that time following her around. It’s hard work making sure that you’ll be exactly where someone is going to show up and on time. I vowed to never again stalk anyone unless I was being paid to do it.

I turn around, looking through the crowd for her. She is not at the funeral. Why did I come here? I’m not getting paid for this.


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