I was so nervous. I never dreamt I could mastermind the deadly deed. It should not have been forced to crawl out of the deepest crypts of my darkest thoughts. And no matter how hard I now try to make the terror go away it will always be there. Unflinching, never blinking, always there.

Fear fogs my memory, but the night of reckoning began like this. The clock glared at me and my gray hissing cat. Her bristled tail and frightened feline face told me she knew that this would be the night. The night the deadly deed would be done.

I walked past the worn, wooden doors and my worried world began to change.

The granite counter top was no longer stunning and smooth, just cold as death. A mounted sailfish had becoming evil and putrid. A carcass sneering at my suffering. Eerie shadows were caught sharpening a fan's blades as they cut through the air above my head. A clap of thunder awoke an urgent plan. Could I run outside and escape? Bleak moonlight fell sadly upon jagged trees guarding the yard. Sharpened fence pickets stood like skewers ready to impale those who might try to escape. I then knew there would be no way out. No way out of the deadly deed.

I slowly stepped back into the gloom and thought I heard something. Something dripping from above and something dripping from within. It was rain pounding the roof, like the throbbing pounding my brain. Painfully slow and steadily louder. It would not go away. It would haunt me until the deadly deed was done.

I looked for help inside and out, but none was found. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light. The final storm had started. My feet swept me into a study, towards a blood red desk. It glistened with each lightning strike like a slaughtered slab of meat. My chair trapped me behind the desk as I awaited the deadly deed. A chill fled from my ears straight to my bones. It came from the sharp tap, tap, tap of human fingernails on the distant cold granite counter top. A threatening sound bounced closer off the gaze of the mounted dead sailfish. Words from my father's voice then exploded with the ultimate horror: "Son, it is time for you to do your homework. Start writing your horror story now!" And that is how and why The Deadly Deed was done.




Ages have passed, my only company, the despair that cloaks my days and nights. It is the only thing holding me together, my only friend in the dark, damp space where I spend my days. At first I tried to fight it, I tried to clear my eye, tried to cough out the dust collected in my system. But now, whenever I move, my back begins to bleed. Oozes and pulses, the red brown mud, which keeps me alive, flows out of the small wound. Soon there will be none left. My body parts are rusting; if I try to move them they squeak and moan. Soon I will be an empty cask, no breath, no life, and no memories.

A hospital, cold, dark, the balance of life and death. Screams, swearing, silence. A small being. Ten fingers, ten toes, a clone of those before her. Laughter, love, longing. A beautiful baby girl accepted into open arms. One, two, three. A loving but exhausted mother cuddling a small red-faced infant in my frame.

Memories. Small snapshots of my life, I sort through often, trying to find meaning or relief. Memories of my family; I was with them for such a short time yet I blend into their life easily. Becoming part of every trip, every family occasion. It was hard to believe that they have put me here. A place, which is surely, a waiting place for death. Always wanting newer, fancier members, they have no feelings, no regret, not even for the world dissolving around them. At the beginning memories came to me easily. Now it is becoming harder to recall them, difficult to bring them forward.

It is a sign that it is spreading, the disease.

A parking lot, warm, sunny, faultless. Lots of laughter and noise. People scurrying back and forth. Tents, a fireplace, families everywhere. A yell brings members running, falling into the familiar places. Smiles ready. One, Two, Three. Another perfect memory. Disease. The word itself is ugly. People startle when they hear it, flinch when it comes from a doctor's mouth. It is spreading through my system; it is incurable, leaving in its wake a trail of murky brown scabs.

A birthday party. Happiness, cakes, gifts. Every child's dream. They scream and run. Many snap shots, playing games, dancing. Than when everyone surrounds the massive pink cake, grins. One two three, Cheese!

Scabs that sink lower, penetrating my mind, my memories and more importantly my hope. School social. Braces, pigtails, dancing, embarrassment. All wanting to grow up. All secretly enjoying their youth. Girls join sweaty hands with boys, declaring their ever-lasting love. A photo which will cause much laughter in years yet to come. Hope. Without it my mind will submerge into the despair that surrounds me. Yet one day, a day like any other, a ray of light cuts through the thick cloak of desolation. The lid is taken off my days of isolation, my eye surrounded by a blinding light. Blurry and light-headed I struggle to find a focus point. As the world spins around me I begin to concentrate and my sight is gradually returned to me. The cap dangles from my body, I feel young and I am free.

First day of University. Nervous, yet anxious to get started. Wanting to dive in, wanting to run away. Dorm rooms, separation, independence. Meeting new people, teachers, classmates. Longing to fit in, craving individualism. Look this way! Snapshot. Smiling junior dying of embarrassment.

Freedom. A concept I haven't considered in a long time. No longer a captive of the dark. I am taken out of the cold dark space and examined. This causes some embarrassment, as I am no longer beautiful. My skin has been tarnished by years of neglect and the lingering scent of dust covers my body. I am pushed and prodded in a manner which angers me. Yet the feeling of human contact is such an overwhelming sensation that the anger is quickly smothered by an even stronger emotion. Love.

Graduation day. Hats and cloaks for all. Smiling students, ready to be released into the world around them. Knowing all, yet so innocent, one by one they take their prize. When all have gotten that scrap of paper announcing their departure from childhood, they gather with hopeful ambition. One, two, three. Get ready for the world. Love is the one emotion that can rip a person apart then repair them with a single gesture. Love does the most damage in our world. It also makes life bearable and from it springs hope, desire, happiness, and compassion. But love, like everything else, must eventually face death.

A church. Something white, new, borrowed, blue. Happiness fills the air, emotions are running amok. Words, beautiful yet meaningless. A contract, broken just as easily as it was signed. Family, friends everywhere. Another bride and groom, another generation. Death. This is surely it. My mind is being ripped out of my body. My memories exposed, taken away and printed for the world to see. Now I am nothing, another useless box. Thrown away, just another disposable camera being replaced by newer technology.

A hospital, cold, dark, the balance of life and death. The cold tapping of feet on the clinical white tiles, a nurse, the calmness in a building of panic, strolls down the corridor. Another scream, 'just one more push!'

And it begins again.



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