My subject is: Mother may I?
It was submitted by: www.notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com
I tried to make the best of this subject. It wasn't easy. haha. So here is a little fiction.
It started with flowers.
And, yeah, I know that sounds awesome and shit, but it wasn't. I would get flowers at work every single day with a card that read "Mother may I?" and that was it. Every. single. day. This has gone on for like 6 months. No weird texts. No messages. No dating scares. (Yet.) I mean, I don't even have a recent ex. It was just flowers, every day, same time, at work, different arrangements every time.
It was cute and mysterious and, eh, kinda romantic for the first couple days maybe, but after the first week, it was old, and that fucking card was the pinnacle of creepiness from the get go. By the second week, I thought it had to be a prank. But then it never ended.
All my friends asked me to call the police, but what do you actually say about it? I tried calling the florist, but they didn't have any information they could give me. The orders had been placed online with a credit card, but the owner really didn't feel comfortable giving me a name since the cards were never supposed to be signed. So. yeah. Throwing away flowers became part of my daily routine for awhile.
Then I started getting comments on Instagram. Every time I posted a selfie, some random account (different ones every time) would be the first to comment , and every time it said, "Mother may I?" The accounts weren't new. Each one had a few hundred followers and random memes posted. Never of photo of themselves, though, and no indication of who might actually be running the account. I set my account to private after a few days of this, but it didn't stop, and I had to shut the whole profile down.
I still didn't take it to the police. How crazy would I have looked telling them about flowers and Instagram photos? Hysterical is the word that comes to mind because it has been used to undermine women forever. And yes I realize that's absolutely cynical, but oh well. Such is life. Maybe they would have taken me seriously, but back in college my roommate went to the cops when she was drugged at a bar, and they wouldn't even take down a report because she couldn't prove she didn't "just drink too much," so, eh, I don't have much faith in the cops. Or didn't. Don't? The jury is still out on that one honestly.
It was when I started getting explicit pictures on my phone by text that I finally went to the police station. Porn gifs, dick pics, images burned into my skull forever and all accompanied by "Mother may I?" The guy was tech savvy, and I say guy because I just don't see too many women having a reason to send me dick pics or call me mother, but who the fuck knows. I could be wrong. I still don't know who it is or why. Anyway, the texts were all coming in from different numbers, burner phones the police said, so I changed my number (I didn't want to before so I would have stored up some evidence) about 3 days ago upon their advice to see if at least the messages would stop.
And they did. For the first two days...
But today... Well, everything was fine. Okay, everything wasn't fine, but I was mostly alright. I kept on thinking, hoping, that maybe it really was a prank. Maybe it was someone's idea of a sick joke. Maybe I had actually made someone mad, and they were trolling me. Today, though.... today, I started getting violent photos, battered, choked women; what could only be described as snuff film gifs; mutilated women's bodies; and things I can't even put into words. Every half hour on the dot starting at 7 a.m. I've been getting these. I called the cops--again--and I was asked to forward every single one of the texts to the guy handling my case. So I'm having to see every single one of these fucking things, and it's terrifying. They're supposed to be using the texts to try and get warrants or some fucking shit, but while I've been waiting to hear back, diligently forwarding each one of these texts and crying all the while, I've had a knock at the door. I looked out the peephole to see someone in a suit wearing some kind of realistic skull mask staring straight into the lens. We made "eye contact" if that's at all possible through a peephole for about 30 seconds before he, she, whoever leaned in and whispered "Mother may I?" barely loud enough to hear through the thin apartment door (or was it my imagination?) before taking off down the hall.
So the cop is supposed to show up, but I keep hearing things at the windows. Why oh why do I have to live on the ground floor?? And now the texts have stopped. Maybe the cop will actually get here and do something, but just in case, I'm sitting in the kitchen floor with the biggest knife I own because not today, Satan. Not fucking today.
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