7 Sins Saga: Lust

Lust
April 30, 2007

With a glance to the side, he followed her.

He had spotted her a few hours back, perched on a barstool like a trophy on a pedestal. Her dress had hugged her curves seductively, her eyes were bright and full of life, but she sat alone, as if no one else could see her.

So he had followed her as she left the bar. His eyes were full of longing.

He ducked into an alley as she turned. That was close... He watched as her perfect gaze spanned the streets. Satisified she was alone, she continued with her mincing gait. And behind her, like an ill shadow, he followed.

She turned into an alleyway, slightly off the beaten path. Surprised, he quickly rounded the corner-

To find her staring straight at him with a slight smirk. He began to sweat as her hand moved towards her waist, expecting her to pull a can of pepper spray, or perhaps a cell phone to call the cops.

She looked at him, with the smile dangling off her lips. Her hand strayed unexpectedly, aiming towards her belt clasp rather than her pocket. He drooled as the click of her buckle undid itself. She let her pants fall.

Without a word, she beckoned. He complied willingly. Her body was warm in the night air, but she made not a sound as he took her. Her body was responsive, moving fast and hard, but no one came across them, no one heard a sound.

In his lust, he rolled them both to the ground. Twisting and turning, they were lost in each other. His mind swirled as they spun round and round, into the street, onto the open road. There they lay, linked together, with looks of ecstasy on both their faces.

He looked down at her, her closed eyes and open mouth displaying the pleasure she obviously felt. And as he watched, the skin began to peel from her face, the sweet eyes receding into the sockets, and the lips crackling away like dry leaves.

"That was fun," she said in a hoarse, crackled whisper.

He gibbered, his mouth frozen in horror. He tried to pull away but found, to his sheer terror, he could not.

"And here I was, so hoping you'd pass the test." The skull-face grinned up at him, the long bony fingers wrapping around his arms. "But I do hope you enjoyed your last moments."

He turned as the honk and headlights bore down on him. He screamed.

The Two Monkeys

Two monkeys were sitting in a tree.

One monkey turned to the other. He was eating a banana.

"Friend monkey, do you see that smoke coming from far away?"

"Yes, friend. I hear their is a great banquet, past the mountains."

"Let us go to the banquet, for surely two important creatures such as ourselves will be welcomed with open arms."

The two monkeys made their way, past the mountains, to the great feast. There, they waited for their turn, as there was a long line.

Upon reaching the door, a strange creature stopped the two friends.

"Hello little monkeys."

"Hello, strange creature. We have come from far lands to attend this great banquet."

"I am sorry. This feast is only for humans. Monkeys may not enter. You must go back to where you came from."

"Humans? But we have travelled so far, only to be rejected!"

Sadly, the two monkeys left, and began to travel back to thier jungle. But one monkey turned to his friend.

"Friend, I hear there is a great machine upon this mountain.
It has the power to grant many wishes. Perhaps we may wish to become humans, in order to attend this magnificent feast."

For many days, the two monkeys struggled to the top of the mountain. The wind was cold. The ground was hard. The air was thin.

After a very, very long time, the two travellers reached the top of the mountain. Upon a great plateau sat a worn, broken machine. It was spotted with rust, but as the two friends approached, lights began to blink within the metal shell.

"Who is there?" The machine said.

"Oh wondrous machine! We have come from far lands to seek your wisdom!"

"It was a difficult journey."

"It took us many days."

"Please, oh machine of the future, turn us into human creatures!"

The machine thought.

"Very well. But I will tell you a story."

"There once were two monkeys. From afar they spotted a great feast. But when they reached the feast, they were turned away. In order to gain entry, they decided to travel very far, and very high, to find a machine that could grant wishes. Once there, their wishes were granted."

One monkey turned to the other monkey. "Friend, I never noticed it before, but you smell like a monkey."

"Strange. You also smell like a monkey. In fact, I have never noticed that before."

Slowly, the two monkeys began to change.

"Friend, you no longer smell like a monkey. You smell different."

"As do you. Perhaps we are no longer monkeys."

The monkeys looked and saw their wish had been granted.

The machine began to speak.

"The monkeys looked and saw their wish had been granted. Overjoyed, they began to make their way back down the mountain."

"However, a rock, disturbed by the winds, came down and crashed upon them, pinning them to the ground. There they lay trapped, for a hundred years."

And as the machine said those words, it was so. The two humans that were once monkeys lay trapped under the boulder, for one hundred long years.

At the end of one hundred long years, the machine opened its eyes once more.

"At the end of one hundred long years, the machine opened its eyes once more. Little humans, why are you still here?"

"We are trapped, by this rock," said a voice from under the rock. "We have been trapped for one hundred long years. The only light we have seen is from this small hole in the stone."

"Why do you not release yourselves from your prison?"

"We cannot. The hole is too small to crawl through. Alas, if we were still monkeys, we would be able to release ourselves."

"Friend monkeys, the power to change is something I have granted upon you. Why not change into something smaller, and escape?"

"If only it were so, oh great machine! But this rock prevents us from changing shape. The magic of this mountain is too great to escape from!"

"Ah, my friends. You yet do not understand, after these one hundred long years? You need not change your shape. All you must do is to return to it."

Silence came from under the boulder. Slowly, two monkeys crawled out from a hole in the side.

"My friend, you smell like a monkey."

"You also smell like a monkey."

The two monkeys looked at each other and were glad.

"Machine, thank you."

"Yes, thank you. We see now that we were meant to be monkeys. Wishing to be anything else is foolish, and against nature."

The two monkeys travelled back to the jungles, where they ate bananas and swung in the trees, as monkeys should. The machine spoke once more, to itself.

"The two monkeys thanked the machine. Soon, they travelled back down to the jungles, where they ate bananas and swung in the trees, as monkeys should. Monkeys are monkeys, and humans are humans. Machines are machines. Any other way is foolish."

Watermelon

Watermelon
April 26 2007

I tossed the watermelon in the air like some sort of... wild alien space-craft thingie. It spun once, then sailed back down to earth, defeated by its own mass and the force of gravy-tee!

I ran and ducked for cover as the green bomb-thingie flew towards the ground. Even with my hands over my freakishly large head I still heard the 'splut' as the missile struck, splattering into little bits of mushy goo. Pieces of peel flew over my head as seeds and red innards exploded in a smorgasbord of color on the ground!

Jason looked at me with a look that clearly read 'Justin, you are so dumb.'

"Justin, you are so dumb," he said. "Why did you even do that?"

WHY?! Why not? Watermelon explody is the best superpower you can have besides turning things to CHEESE WITH YOUR MIND! I shrugged and waved my arms in a confusing pattern. Hopefully it would distract him while I ran.

To my utter dismay and eternal sorrow, it began to rain. There would be no running! Rain rain rain, turning smushed watermelon ichor to pasty red stringy-stuff. Then, as the acid pollution mixed with the disgusting fruit-brain-matter, something began to occur deep within the squishy chemical composition of the fruit-creature. The vine-baby thing began to grow, and grow, to the size of a giant-fruit-sized-thing!

Jason screamed and ran but the fruit creature was too powerful! A long red tentacle reached out and wrapped him up. A maw the size of a SARLACC PIT opened up and devoured him whole, leaving only his wallet and car keys. I could see that the only way to escape was to steal all of Jason's money and drive away in his car! But my plan was FOILED! Foiled, I tell you!

The giant green-shelled, red-mushy-insides, seedy-eyed monster got to its numerous filthy feet and began to make its ffffilthy way to me, leaving FILTHY footprints in its filllltthy wake! It growled, spraying me with large filthy chunks of tasty watermelon!

Suddenly, the words of my great-great grandfather's dog came to me. "Woof rawrf bark bark."

Of course! The only way to defeat a mutant, giant, snaggle-toothed, freakishly-large-headed slimy watermelon creature was to SPANK IT TO DEATH! With my undoubtedly powerful palms of fury I began to flail wildly at the creature, wearing it down with my very manly slaps.

The monster screamed and struck back with large random appendages! It was like being in the middle of a Decemberists concert. I held on for my very valuable life as the watermelon swung beneath me, trying to knock me into its stinky mouth.

(I g2g, so... uhhh)

Giving it one last shot, I transformed into a power ranger and defeated the creepy thing. The end.

Who am I?

Who am I?

I'm a sailor, on the sea of life,
Tossing and turning with the wave,
Never knowing what lies ahead,
Except the stillness of the grave.

I'm a explorer, in the wild,
Never seeing past my own nose,
Like life, like jungle, and all between,
Wherein I wander, no one goes.

I'm a worker, at the shops,
Toiling away, day ere day,
Past hours, weeks, months and years,
I kill myself, to earn my pay.

I'm a poor man, on the streets,
My life is cruel, and hard to boot,
I'm lost and starved and never safe,
Just like life, the point is moot.

I'm a migrant, in a strange land,
Outcast here, no home I find,
My life is lost, I have no hope,
To linger here is to break my mind.

I'm a hero, never-born,
Son of gods and spinner of fate,
Quest and journey, shield and sword,
I'll never rest, at any rate.

I'm a person, in my own right,
I'm lost and tossed and dead inside,
But what I find within myself,
Is hope, and faith, and naught to hide.

Nine Lives

Here's Guy that calls me Not Chester's favourite piece. I wrote it a while ago, but thought I'd slam it up here for good measure.

Nine Lives
October 20, 2006

Allen was walking down the street when he first saw him. Just out of the corner of his eye, a liquid shadow darting its way into an alley.

So he took time out of his day for that small part of adventure the human heart seeks, and turned off the weel-worn sidewalk into the graffiti-marked alleyway. From the darkness, two bright green eyes stared up at him.

"Hey kitty. C'mere, I won't hurt you." Allen waved with his hands. A hiss came from the blackness. "I've got some nice snacks, c'mon. C'mon out of there."

Cautiously, the cat approached, stalking paw by paw. Allen stood as still as a statue, not daring to move lest he frighten the animal away.

And finally, the cat licked his hand. Its tongue was rough and warm, and it coiled up to his leg, its tail swishing. Allen reached down and picked the small black animal up with care.

"C'mon, let's get you inside. It's a cold winter this year."

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"There you go sweetheart!" Allen placed the bowl of milk on the tiled floor of his kitchen, slopping some over the side. The kitten licked it up with relish, then sat back and purred, stretching out on the floor.

"Okay, time for me to sleep, but I'll take you to the shelter in the morning." The cat looked at Allen with a curious, puzzled look. Then it grinned, showing sharp white fangs.

Allen stumbled up the stairs, leaving a light on for the little cat. He made his way into his bathroom, flicking on his lights, grabbing a hold of his toothbrush. He turned on the water.

Soon after, Allen switched off the water, bent over and dried his face with a handcloth. Then he looked up into the mirror, and spotted the cat sitting on the toilet tank. It looked at him with the same curious look.

"Whew! Startled me there, little buddy!" Allen picked the cat up with a miaow and set it on the floor, where it quickly scurried out of the room. Disregarding the animal, Allen slipped into his pajamas, only to find the cat back when he pulled his shirt over his head. This time, the critter was perched on the top of his dresser. It looked over him with brilliant green eyes, then let out a low purr.

Allen looked at the cat as it looked at him. Human eyes met animal eyes as the two regarded each other. Then suddenly, the cat leapt off the drawers and landed on the floor, its long black tail swishing. Then it looked back at him and meowed.

Shaking his head, Allen crawled into his bed, switching off his bedside lamp. And within minutes, he was fast asleep.

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Allen woke up with a start. At first, he didn't know what had disturbed his sleep, but then he spotted the cat. It was on his chest, staring him in the eyes. It tilted its head quizzically at him. The eyes, vibrant in the darkness, seemed like ghostly orbs floating in the air. Hypnotic, rhythmic, piercing...

His breath came quicker, as those eyes searched him. He panted, struggled, rose out of bed sweating, the cat jumping off onto the floor, where it still watched. He stood, his breathing heavy, and stumbled to the bathroom. His face was a mess. He was sweating, panting, his eyes bloodshot and his lip trembling.

He looked at the cat. It seemed to be enjoying his predicament, purring at him and coiling between his legs.

He looked down with dread, and an inscrutable expression in his eyes. The cat returned the look with a mocking gaze. With trepidation, Allen stepped carefully around the cat, giving it a wide berth, and returned to his room. Instead of returning to bed, he instead took a seat in his armchair, and picked up his favourite book. There was no way he could get back to sleep now.

When he put his book down, he noticed the cat on the ottoman watching him. Upon noticing his stare, the cat yawned and stretched out. Then it opened its eyes and continued its unfeeling observation.

And for the rest of the night, the two sat and stared. Cat to human. Soul to soul.

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The sun rose early that day, and the shadows were chased away, revealing the two, Allen and kitty, still locked in an internal battle between man and beast.

With a sudden meow, the cat leapt off the stool, and Allen smashed its head in with the book.

His mind had snapped, his reason had fled, and his sanity had been ruined in that epic contest. He struck again and again, the cat making a horrible yowling, and Allen felt a giggle coming on, and he knew if he gave voice to it he'd lose himself even deeper, and so he did, and the blood sprayed. And finally, Allen dropped the bloodstained novel, loose pages fluttering around the room like strange snowfall.

And then he stared. He just stared. With a shaking hand, he picked the body of the cat up by the scruff of the neck, tossing it out of his room, its broken neck flopping around like a puppet whose strings had snapped.
And then Allen sat back down with a heavy sigh, in the midst of a rain of shredded paper, in a puddle of blood, covered in the red fluid and bits of fur.

Then, he fell asleep, his mind already wandering the plains of peace, the lands of imagination, the world of dreams.

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It was about 4 P.M. when he awoke. He rose, awake and refreshed, ready to go. He stepped out of his room, whistling, made himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, then went to fetch the newspaper.

And then he walked back into his kitchen, and saw the cat.

It looked at him with that same mocking gaze it had given to him the night, and in despair, he screamed.

"WHY! Why are you still alive! You should be dead! DEAD! I killed you!" He raged, he spluttered, he laughed maniacally, he looked at the cat, threw his head back with his eyes closed, looked again, then screamed in agony.

He looked to the counter, to the blades sitting there, to the trash compactor, to the blender, to the microwave.

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He finished within an hour. His hands were covered, slick with blood, matted with fur and bits of organs, and he laughed again, one long laugh, through the blood and fur and guts and small pieces of metacarpals and femour splinters, Then he dragged the small corpse out of the microwave, or what was left of it, tossing the remains down into the food shredder.

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But the cat came back the very next day, the cat came back, he thought he was a goner, but the cat came back, it couldn't stay away.

This time, Allen encountered it in the midst of the workplace. He noticed it from his computer screen reflection, then turned around, screamed a long dark scream, and grasped the animal before it could run away. With the cat struggling, he handed it to his coworker Jen, and ran, ran from it, from hell, from evil personified.

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And the very next day... Allen thought he was rid of it. But there it came, trotting back into his life like it did the first day, and this time, Allen was ready with a shotgun and blew the cat to pieces.

Later that day, Allen read in the news that Jen had committed suicide in her home, drowned in her bathtub. The strange thing was that the water was covered in a thin layer of fur, and was tinged red with blood.

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By then, Allen was paranoid, broken, his house full of blood and fur and pieces of cat.

And still it came back. As cheerful as ever, as mocking as always, grinning at Allen and revelling in his torture.

"Why won't you die?" Allen whispered as he strangled it. "Why won't you stop living?"

The cat scratched at his hands but was silent, although whether or not it meant to be silent or had no windpipe left was up to debate. Allen stared once again into those deep eyes, except now they were symbols of hate, of evil, of his neverending torture.

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The very next day, Allen went out into the street and paid a mercenary to handle the cat.

"You want me to kill a cat?" The gunman had snickered. "For this much?"

"Yes," Allen replied, his face pale. "Just... kill it, but make sure it stays dead."

The same man was found dead later that day, with cat scratches on his face and neck, a bullet through his temple.

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The cat came back the very next day.

Allen threw it in the closet, taped over the door, plastered it up and sat in front of it the entire day with a shotgun in hand. He could hear the hellish scratching and yowling as the cat pawed at the door, but slowly the noises stopped and when Allen summoned up enough courage to look inside, the cat was still as the night air. He took the body by the tail and hurled it into a wall as hard as he could, then threw it down the garbage chute.

By now, his mind was shattered, his body was wasting away as he disregarded his health and safety, obsessed with only the cat. So much blood, so much evil, and still it would not die.

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A week passed and the cat did not return.

Allen was beginning to regain control of his life, to clean up his house, to sort out his affairs, to return to work. His demeanour changed to how it was before. He smiled more often, although flinching every time he saw a black cat.

But he came home one day and it was there, as if it had never left. He stood, frozen, as it purred between his ankles. He slowly looked down as it looked up, and there they were once more, in a battle of wits and a struggle for sanity. With his heavy boot he stepped on it and broke its back, the tiny bones snapping like pretzels. Amazingly, it clawed at his heel until one more stomp crushed its skull like sugar glass.

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And that night, the cat came back, for what Allen would make sure was the last time.

He was sitting facing the doorway, a pet cage in his hand, a shotgun in the other, and all the windows closed. And the cat came back, yes it did, and this time, it came from behind, it leapt like a tiger on his head, tore at Allen's scalp, it slashed his face ruthlessly, plunging its claws into his eyes and throat as effective as any knife, it clung to his face, the warm, slick abominable creature that would not die and in desperation and panic, and in utter and complete insanity, Allen turned the gun on himself and killed them both in one shot.

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The very next day, the police found Allen in his pajamas, lying in a pool of his own blood, his face blown away by a shotgun shell, his brains spread like jam on the tiled floors. There was also a black cat, perched comfortably on his cold body, its soft tongue lapping up the redness like cream.

The Tragic Journey of Samuel Combs: An Excerpt

Here's a few excerpts of the 'novel' I'm attempting to write. Moving my focus from short stories to longer works... hopefully I have the dedication.

The Tragic Journey of Samuel Combs

It was only yesterday that it happened.

That one of the greatest men I have ever known had fallen to his death, up on that high-rise, with no one around him, with only Death beside him, and only him, alone with himself. I suppose all is right with the world when men die the tragic death they are destined to die; when heroes die like heroes should.

This is the beginning of our tragic journey, Samuel Combs and I. After much doubt and fear and anger, my sanity is still intact. As for Combs, who will ever know? I still wonder whether he ever found what he was looking for. I still wonder whether he knew what he was looking for.

***

"I needed to visit you," I managed to choke out. "I need to know."

"There is nothing to know." He stared at me, through me, with a piteous gaze, a gaze that pitied both him and me, that of one who has risen above us all only to find his ruin, that even above the clouds the sky was still dark.

Turning away from me, he faced his door, the grease-stained and battered wood staring back at him. The screams still echoed from outside, although lacking the ferocity and horrifying nature of before. These screams were reminiscent of those who have lost hope, souls in torment, in pain and suffering.

***

"You have come, you have questioned, you have asked. You want to know the truth, and you will find it before I am done with you." The strange man who had become stranger leaned down, to place his nose against the television glass. "The static of the television is chaos, is disturbance, is disorder. This is the essence of our natures, as humans. We live in chaos, breath it.”

He raised the dark remote. The channel changed to various shows, news reports, cartoons. “Is this real? No, it is merely a pre-planned schedule, a scripted performance.” He turned his dark eyes towards me. “Is life any different than this?”

***

So, what do you think? Dark and creepy enough to continue writing?

The Last

Jake stepped out of the hatch.

As far the eye could see: Destruction. The houses of men were reduced to rubble. Tines of lumber and metal thrust out of the ground like sharp spikes, and holes and craters littered the dry earth.

The air was dusted with a brown tinge, and the sun was blotted out by the thick black clouds. Everywhere was dark, and gray, and bleak.

"Hello?" Jake cried out. "Hey! Anyone out there?!"

The silence was the loudest sound. Not even the whisper of wind, or the rustling of leaves. In fact, the trees were all gone, as was any other living thing. Only Jake. Alone.

He lowered himself to the ground. The hatch stuck out of the ground like some sort of vile insect, the metal coating flaking in the harsh air. Rusted pieces fell to the ground like red snow. The sound of his shoes against the cold earth thundered like drumbeats through the hollows of the city.

As he walked, Jake remembered. The loud bang, the bright flash from outside the kitchen window. Ma dropping the onion she was mincing, father pushing him into the hatch, and then silence. Silence for the longest time, days upon days, until he finally gathered up the courage to open that door, the hatch to hell.

The wreckage of skyscrapers towered around him like vast alien structures, and the forms of ruined cars and vehicles came out of the mist-like dust. No bodies, no animals, no living being for miles and miles. No sound. It was a silent world: the silence of death.

Jake felt something touch his shoulder, and he ran for cover as rain poured down from the sky. Pools of water collected in the basins and craters of the earth as he ducked under the tilted edge of a skyscraper. Thunder crashed, and lightning streaked across the sky, heralds to death and destruction.

Jake huddled in the cold, cold world, pulling his coat close to his body. Alone, while the hiss of acid rain corroded and discolored the metal city. The overhang above his head creaked, and he shivered in fear and cold as the storm raged above.

A piece of metal made a decent cover as he headed out in the storm. With one hand, he held his coat closed, and with the other, he held the steel sheet above his hunched head. Rain slammed into the pane, pattering with a thousand hits as Jake made his way through the city.

The dust had subsided, by the acidic rain choked his lungs and blurred his vision. Thunder had deafened him, and lightning had blinded him. The smell of ozone filled the air as a bolt struck the wreckage of a distant tower.

Jake walked, and walked, not knowing what he was searching for. The rain drummed against his head and his feet matched the rhythm, as he plodded through the broken city. Eventually, his foot touched an edge, and he looked up.

The ocean. A distant horizon, and grey waters. Unpassable, lashing out with tongues of mist and spray in the violent storm, crashing against the shore with the clash of a thousand cymbals. A broken statue of justice and liberty, her crown and head long destroyed, and her book sunken, and her torch extinguised. Only her feet still stood, a testament to Ozymandias, and the horror of humanity.

Jake looked down. Rainwater collected at his feet as he bent over. He sobbed, and choked, as he reached out his hand. His fingers strained, his knees shaking, and tears running down his wet face. And then, at that instant, his life fled his body, the strain and shock greater than his body could withstand, tumbling him onto his side, his eyes wide-open and blank as the rain fell in pools around him.

At his fingertips, just out of his grasp, sat a single white rose, growing out of the broken concrete and pools of acid rain, shining in the grey world, under the black skies and weathered wreckage: a symbol of innocence gone awry - and a fitting memorial over the grave of mankind.

A Night Out

"Hi Ms. Dewen!" A sharp-looking young woman smiled from the doorstep.

"Oh, you must be Kathy! Come in!" Jane smiled. She pulled the door open a little wider as Kathy stepped inside.

"Wow! your house is a lot nicer than any of the others I've seen!"

"Thank you Kathy. Now, I have a few things that need to be taken care of, so there's a list in the kitchen. Keep an eye on the baby, and remember, you need to put the turkey in at exactly 9:00 so it's done when we get back."

"Oh no problem Ms. Dewen! I can do that!" Kathy grinned widely. "After all, it is my job."

"Thanks a lot. We'll be back at 12:00, so you can crash on the couch if you get tired." James entered the room and waved, picking his jacket from the chair back. "Have a good night!"

"You too Ms. and Mr. Dewen! Enjoy yourselves!" Kathy waved, carrying the baby in the crook of her arm. "I'll take care of everything!"

James got behind the wheel. "Everything going to be okay?"

"Oh James," Jane replied. "Can we spend one night for ourselves? I mean, ever since the baby was born, we haven't had time between changing diapers and cleaning up."

"Okay okay!" James grinned. "I'm glad too. I mean, I love Jason too, but I'd enjoy a night out."

Jane looked outside. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, it's a surprise. You'll see."

***

Soon afterwards, they pulled into a parking lot. "Oh James, are you sure we can afford this?"

"Shh, it's our one night of fun. Nothing is too much." He opened the door and let Jane out. "After spending so much on the baby, we deserve a treat."

The tables were clean, the waiters were uniformed, and the food smelt delicious. The constant chatter of dinner guests made comfortable background noise and the clinks of dinner plates and glasses sounded familiar to their ears. They were soon seated, given menus and served drinks while they selected their meal.

"I hear that the steak here is good." James perused the menu. "But seafood has always been my thing..."

"I'm going to go for seafood. Maybe you can get steak, and we can share?" Jane looked at him coyly.

James grinned and called the waiter over. "Yeah, I'll have the steak please."

***

Dinner conversation was pleasant and involving. It had been a while since the two had time to themselves, and they took full advantage of it.

"We should do this every week."

"We should."

"...Do you think everything is okay at home?"

"Oh, come on. Don't think about that; instead, think about what we're going to do after."

The conversation slowly blended into the surrounding noise, became part of the aural wallpaper in the room. The couples at the tables were all enjoying themselves: staring into their partner's eyes, holding hands gently, and whispering thoughts and secrets.

***

It was not until 12:30 that the couple got home. Dinner had been a few hours before, and the twinges of hunger were just starting to settle in.

"Kathy! We're home!" James popped open the door.

"Oh, Mr. Dewen. Did you have a good time?" Kathy slowly got up off the sofa.

"We did! Thank you Kathy, you look really tired. Maybe you better get some sleep at home." Jane picked a number of bills off her purse. "Here's your pay. We'll call you if we need anything else."

Kathy yawned and took the money sleepily. "Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Dewen..." she mumbled as she walked out the door.

"What a nice girl." Jane walked into the kitchen where James was checking on the turkey. "Hey! Don't do that!"

James looked up with a piece of meat in his hand. He popped it into his mouth. "Oh come on, it's good! And you gotta admit, I thought she would have screwed up somehow, you know, undercooked it or something."

He held his fingers to his wife's mouth. She kissed them gently, tasting the oily food on his hands. "Mmm..."

They quickly retreated to the bedroom. Things went down (and up), and in an hour, both were exhausted, sweating and breathing heavily.

"That was great. We should go out more often."

"Whew... yeah. Wanna call it a night?"

"Oh yeah. Just let me check on Jason, I hope we didn't wake him up."

Jane stepped out of the room as James pulled his pajamas on. Then he heard a shriek and a thud. "Jane?"

He hopped out of the room, with his leg halfway in his pants. "Jane? Are you okay?"

He opened the door to the baby room. Jane lay on the floor, fainted in a sprawl, and Jason lay in bed with his blanket covering his body.

"Jason? Are you okay?" James reached for the blanket. "Lil' buddy? Are you okay?" He pulled back the covers.

The final sight James saw before his heart seized was a cold, frozen, stuffed turkey lying in his son's bed, tucked in gently by a pair of loving hands.

Cure

There was once a baby who was born with a terrible, deadly syndrome. It had a 100% fatality rate, and there was no cure the doctors could apply. He had it from birth, the doctors said, and that it had developed in his mother's womb when he was still in the embryonic state.

As the child grew up, he became aware of his state, and as all kids will do, he became curious. He constantly asked his parents many questions, most of which they did not have the answer to. But even as he grew older, the syndrome took its toll on him. He became more and more depressed, always searching for an answer, and not understanding.

Throughout his short years, he spent his time working, and playing, but never did he forget his questions. Why he was cursed with this, he did not know, but it felt like a cruel joke. He met people that were afflicted with similar syndromes and felt a connection with them. However, many of the others did not question themselves and never wondered 'Why me?' Eventually, he left those to discover his answers alone.

Slowly, the symptoms began to show. Over the years, his bones deteriorated, his speech slurred and his mind began to fade. His skin first became loose, then spotted with all sorts of blemishes. He had trouble walking and was eventually confined to a wheelchair, and soon after that, he began to constantly feel tired.

Even as the syndrome took its toll on his body, he continued to question it. He considered many answers, none of them satisfactory. There seemed to be no relief, no reason, and no end to the question... why? Furious, he cursed everything around him, he became enraged, and he refrained from speaking to those closest to him, convinced that they knew the answer and would not tell him.

And finally, one day, he died, his questions all unanswered, as the syndrome took its final grasp on his body and soul. Finally, cured... finally, rid of the disease we call 'life.'