37 / 156
39
Mr. Supermarket
Stalker
(Based on a true
story)
Jacqueline Du
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Honourable Mention
It was a frosty July afternoon in the heart of winter and I was in a
dilemma. Dad had told me off last week for constantly relying on the
school cafeteria to provide my lunch, which was, in his words, ‘a
convenient but expensive way of eating unhealthy food’. So for the
week to come, starting tomorrow, I was to make my own lunch. Only
I had just realised about six minutes ago that I couldn’t actually make
my lunch out of nothing. Who knew you needed food to make it?
Apparently not me…
I slung my bag over my shoulder and grabbed my house keys from
the hook behind the door. ‘Hey Mum! I’m just going out to
Woolworths for a few minutes to grab some stuff to make lunch with!’
‘Leaving things until last minute again? Fine, as long as you take
your phone!’
‘Duh Mum, I always have my phone on me!’
Slipping into my black flats, I pushed open the front door and
stepped out. Grey clouds were scudding across the sky overhead,
warning of a looming storm. I’ll have to hurry, I thought to myself. I
do
not
want to get stuck in rain, especially because I happen to be
having a terrific hair day today! Leafless trees lining the sidewalk
reached their long, bare fingers up in vain attempts to snag a wisp of
cloud. I smiled, finding beauty in even the gloomiest of days.
Arriving at Woolworths, I strode through the automatic glass
doors and headed straight for the bread section. A loaf of wholemeal
bread went flying into the plastic shopping basket I’d picked up on
the way in. Dashing over to the long fridge at the back of the store, I
added four mini-tubs of Chobani greek yoghurt, blackberry flavour
– my favourite. After some fruit went into the basket as well, I
realised it was getting quite heavy, so I placed it down on the floor by
the corner. Next, a bag of those ready-washed salads from the veggie
section. I walked slowly down the aisle, reading all the names and
descriptions of the salads. A traditional garden salad would have
been the safe choice, but there were also the leafy greens to consider
which claimed to be ‘a delightful assortment of textures and flavours’.
Or I could have got one with cherry tomatoes, but that one wasn’t
on special… and let’s be honest, I was not made of money.
After an agonising five minutes or so of trying to choose the
perfect salad, I looked up. That’s when I noticed him. He was a
middle-aged man with short light brown hair, standing stock-still
about two metres away just staring at me. I did a double-take and
8