The Bus Stalker Rapist Killer

Write one sentence. Then write another without violating the first one. Continue until complete.


It’s empty, almost. Except it’s not. That guy, what’s he doing, watching me from the back row. Fuck. He thinks I don’t know, thinks I don’t see him, thinks he’s hiding it. But I can tell, just him and me and some others. Get off, off the bus. Safe. Fuck. He got off too. Not a coincidence, he got off cause I got off. Stalker, rapist, killer, coming after me. Picked me out, cute girl on the bus, cute girl with the big blue eyes and long brown hair and soft smooth skin. Walk away, don’t cause a scene. Cute girl who’d be a great lay, keeping quiet, eyes welling with tears, sad, vulnerable, fuck, fuck. Walk faster, faster, get help, need help. The cops. Where are the cops? Where am I? I don’t know. Somewhere I don’t know. Some industrial area. The perfect place. The perfect place to get raped and strangled and left for dead and who cares if you scream, no one would hear you and even if they did, they wouldn’t come, dumb girl walked right into it, all alone in that back alley, she deserved it, prude girl, won’t give it to anyone, bitch, slut, whore, you got to take it from girls like that. Trembling. No. People aren’t so cruel, they can’t be. Where are they anyway, where is everyone? Where is that guy? The rapist, the killer, the bus stalker rapist killer? He’s gone. Gone away. Away? This his actual bus stop? What?