Who doesn't want to start at least one story with a dark and stormy night?

Sometimes, when am I afraid of something or someone it helps to write a piece from their point of view. ...

It was a dark and stormy night in los angeles. The moon shone through the apartment like a flood light someone had forgotten to turn off. The street was as cold and silent as death and the windows were bare. It was easy to see her. I watched her move through every room. Wandering, jumpy. A dog barked and she looked like she might jump out the window. She had no idea I was there but I know she could feel my eyes by the way she kept looking out into the night. I reminded myself how lucky it was that she had a circular apartment with so many windows. So many chances to see her. 

She seemed so nervous that night. She had been alone for two days. I knew I had only one more day to make my move. I half hoped that she would spot me and invite me in for tea, that would make it so much easier. I always hope that and they never do. If only she knew how easy she could make it on herself if she would just come to me. If she could just admit how she feels about me, instead of leaving me shivering, cowering with the hydrangeas. How could she do this to someone she so clearly loves? I wrote her a letter once. It was beautiful. I used all the best words and phrases. She cried when she read it. She showed it to her boyfriend. I could only imagine her showing him the letter and telling him that she had found her one true love and that it was over between them. He put his arm around her, comforting her, then he took off in his van, leaving her life wide open for me. But how could she still leave me out in the cold? 

If only she would have given in then the police would have stopped bothering me and we could live happily ever after. Oh how I loved a hard headed dame like this one. I was sure her insides were as beautiful as her outsides. I couldn't wait to split her open. I wondered silently if the noodles she had for dinner would come spilling languorously out along with her intestines like little worms. 

Sadly, I never got the chance to find out. I didn't know it, but when the dog barked, she got suspicious and called the police. I heard it before I felt it. The sickening thud when the officer hit me on the back of the head with his club. There is no echo when a blunt object makes contact with your head. There is no bouncing back. Just THUD. 

As I sit here in my cell I can still feel the knot from where he hit me. I drew a picture of it and sent it to her but she hasn't responded yet. I'm sure she is too distraught to even read. I saw her crying when they were dragging me away. I know the scraping of my heels along the asphalt was too much for her to bare because she ran inside and slammed the door. I think of her every night. Only a few more months until we can be together again and everything will be alright.

*I no longer live in that apartment...