WHISPERS

I smirked to myself as I dropped the body of my wife in the boot and slammed the lid down. They’d thought I was stupid, her and her brother, they thought they could do away with me, obviously they thought they could claim on my insurances. Well, I wouldn’t make it easy.

            It was only by chance a week ago now that I’d overheard her talking to her brother in the kitchen at all. I’d been on the toilet, and their voices had travelled up the pipes to me. She’d been tasked to keep me amused and happy for an hour or two and then bring me home, and it was then that he was going to jump out on me. I even heard them talking about getting in a professional cleaner afterwards so everything looked normal.

I didn’t let them know I’d heard them of course. I let them play their game, watching them as they sneaked around, talking in whispers when they thought I was close. It was then that I’d stopped taking my tablets for my Paranoid Schizophrenia. After all, its only paranoid if they’re not really out to get you.

            Jane had been easy enough. She’d spent the day with me, she’d bought me a new pair of trainers and a few books I’d wanted, she’d even taken me for dinner. I was really surprised how cold and callous she seemed, there wasn’t a hint in her eyes about the deed she had planned. No signs of remorse for what they were going to do. I snapped her neck when she opened the boot to put the shoes inside. Quick and easy, no one in the car park even saw me do it.

            I left her in the boot as I drove home, It was night by the time I got home and the house was in total darkness. He’d obviously switched them off so he could take me out in the dark, so I switched off the lights and coasted to the end of the street before I slipped out and into the house via the back door.

The kitchen knife was the first thing I found and I silently entered the back room. I could see his silhouette as he stood before the window looking out for me, and I held my breath as I sneaked up on him.

The first stab was the hardest, going in just under the lung and cutting up and with a gasp he staggered forward as I continued to strike home, two, three four times. As he sank to the floor, the lights came on around me and I turned around, bloody knife in my hands ready to defend myself against any and all attackers.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” a man wearing a party hat shouted, before a woman at the front screamed as she saw the body. I didn’t know what to do. I felt so stupid; I’d obviously got it so wrong.

THE TRUTH

John was sweating despite the light beaming down on him, he could feel his heart beating in his ears and his head felt light and dizzy. He picked up the packet of cigarettes with shaking hands and placed it between his lips and lit it, the warm sensation of the smoke entering his lungs did little thought to calm his nerves as he looked at the man sat opposite.

"You've got to understand it was a mistake, just a simple mistake, a lapse in judgement, nothing more..." The other man just shook his head slowly.

"You know that's not going to cut it here, not now, you need to do better than that."

"But how, I don't know what else to say, I never meant it to happen." He tapped his cigarette against the side of the ashtray before taking another pull. "Surely you understand that, there has to be logic."

"I understand, I really do." the man replied. "But the facts are the facts, pure and simple."

John wiped his nose with his hand and wiped it absent-mindedly on his trousers, he felt like crying, like running away and never coming back. He could imagine life on the open road doing good wherever he went, living from one meal to another but he knew he couldn't run, not this time.

"I could pass the blame, I could..."

"No." the man barked, "No you can't pass this onto someone else, your caught, there is no escape, there is only coming clean that can rectify this."

"But I can't." He sobbed, "I can't do it." The conversation fell silent again as John sobbed quietly to himself, and it felt like years before the man spoke again.

"Look, I understand it wasn't something you planned to do, I know if you could go back in time then things would be different, hindsight is a wonderful thing but it does not change the facts."

"That's easy for you to say." John shouted as he slammed his hands on the table angrily. "You're not in my shoes, you don't know how I feel." 

"You're right." the man said, "I'm not in your shoes. And if I was, heaven forbid it, I would have to come clean. This is going to weigh you down, you have to confess and take the punishment, and there is no other option open. You can't run and there will be no chance to hide; you will be forever sleeping with one eye open waiting for the retribution to come back. Truth will protect you."

John looked up, his eyes sore and red now from the tears. "Can you promise me that?" he whispered. "What assurances can you give?"

"None.”

"If you were me, what would you do?"

"Well, for a start." He replied standing up from the table with his pint in his hand."I would keep your wedding anniversary in a diary and never, ever forget."

THE INVISIBLE

It is said that the meek shall inherit the earth, but, let’s be honest, pretty quickly after they do, someone will come along and swindle them out of it. 

The Meek are a strange group of people who live in the shadows of others, watching from a safe distance before shuffling off to their dwellings to mull over their fate in life, their numbers are unknown as no one has ever really cared to look into it.

I met a meek person once, a while back, she called herself `One of the unseen`, one of the invisible, I was going to ask her if she could see other meek, other invisible people, but I forgot and walked away, and it wasn’t until later that I realised but by then she had gone.

I started an experiment to study them, to keep track of them as I tried to understand their habits and lifestyles. I found that `The Invisible` tend to live in a state of almost poverty, shunning their materialistic needs, for a more simpler lifestyle, they avoid gatherings and parties, so live well on their own without the need of others company. 

As an experiment, I gave up a lot of my social comforts; I reduced myself down to a smaller existence and started to avoid the eye contact of others. Initially, people tried to talk to me, to check and see what was wrong, but after a day or two they left me to it with only a small few of my friends who tried to maintain some form of contact, but even they eventually left me.

I have to say, for the first few weeks I felt so isolated, so alone that my life turned dark and soulless which surprised me, in a city of half a million it is amazing how alone you can feel, how insular you become.

After a month, and my experiment completed and I tried to return to my normal way of life I found my path removed, I tried to talk to my friends but my voice was weak and they walked by without acknowledging me, so, after a day I returned to my existence.

It seems that once you turn invisible, it is very difficult to break free, to gain the strength to pull yourself out of the reality you have created round yourself.

So, now I write this down in the hope that someone will read it, someone will take the time to understand my predicament and help me.

I don’t want to be invisible anymore.

Please help.

THE INTERVIEW

“I don’t wanna go. Please don’t make me go.” Keith begged. “You know I hate them. They look at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

            “Lets not go through this again, dear.” Lynn shook her head at her husband. “It’s an interview, that’s all. You’ve had loads now.”

            “I know.” Keith looked at himself in the mirror, his tie didn’t match the shirt he’d picked out, and the collar had been starched too much. “I just worry about the questions they’re going to ask. I look a right idiot when I can’t answer them properly.” He pulled his tie free again and marched back into the bedroom.

            “You should write down their questions then, so you can learn for next time. You’re not going to get any better unless you try.” She walked to the door. “Put the blue tie on, love. The one Deidre bought you for Christmas, that’s a nice one.”

            “I can’t wear that one. It’s got a stain on it from when we had dinner with Sally and Michael last month. I told you about it at the time.”

            “Well, I don’t remember. It won’t come out now though; you might as well just throw that one away then. Try the black one.”

            “Black one is for funerals. It looks wrong at an interview, sets the wrong ambiance with them.”

            “What else do you have then?” She could hear him moaning from inside the room. “Are you decent? I’m coming in.”

            Keith was sat on the bed, his shirt un-tucked around his waste as he held the two ties in his hands. The first was a comical one someone had bought him a few years ago, not at all appropriate, the other black, as Keith called it, funeral tie in the other.

            “Wear the black one with the dark blue shirt, that should look okay.”

            “Do I have to go. I really don’t feel up to it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

            “Keith Michael Brown, don’t you dare do this to me. You are not sick, just nervous, you know you have to go.”

            “Why though?”

            “Because you’re the bloody Boss.”

THE SPOT.

The day had started normally enough. Liam had risen from his bed as usual, and dressed in his normal way, eaten his usual breakfast and combed his hair in the usual manner. The route to work was the same as always and the day itself had been perfectly normal until Lunch time and it was then that the un-normal thing happened.

            Liam had just sat down at his usual table and opened his pack of spam and pickle sandwiches when he’d felt the pain in his stomach. Not a deep pain that led to an operation, but a sharp pointed pain that made him wonder what was different. He didn’t like different, he was a normal sort of guy. He bought the same things each week when he went shopping, he wore the same practical clothes each day, he even socialised with the same group of people he’d met in the Dungeons and Dragons group at university, and that had been twelve years ago now. No. Liam liked normal, but this pain was anything but.

            He’d made his way to the toilet to check. Feeling the slight thrill of going there two and an half minutes before he normally did. Sliding into the cubical he unfastened his belt and lowered his normal trousers and gasped as he saw it.

            The spot certainly wasn’t usual. He’d never had a spot on his stomach before and he didn’t like it. He could feel his breathing increasing as he looked at it, panic was starting to set in and he hastily covered it with tissue and pulled his trousers back up, forcing under the material.

            The day was, from this point ruined. The usual coffee tasted different, the usual journey home seemed to take forever and he breathed a heavy sign of relief as he closed his normal door on the odd day outside.

            There was only one thing for him to do. The logic was clear enough, he had to get back to being normal, and that would mean removing the spot.

            He went into the bedroom and undressed, carefully folding his clothes in the usual way. The spot seemed to be laughing at him, getting larger as he shakily removed the tissue and he felt dizzy at the sight before him and he rested back on the bed while he composed himself.

            Once he’d reached his usual Zen state Liam placed his fingers at either side and squeezed, grunting as the pressure built as the yellow head expanded. In hind sight he should have stopped after a minute or two, or at least when the head was six inches wide. But he usually didn’t stop until it popped when he had one on his face.

            After five minutes the head was starting to ooze a little, droplets of juice fell onto his legs below, but as he’d never had a spot on his stomach before he had no basis to set normal to. For all he knew, all stomach spots acted this way and he felt reassured at the thought of normality.

            After ten minutes his fingers started to really hurt and he stopped squeezing, leaving the now large, swollen head before him and he’d phoned Josh to seek advise. Josh was the oddest of his friends. Josh met with other people and went out to different places to experience different things. He’d know what to do Liam reasoned.

            The idea of lancing the spot was a new one to him, but if Josh said it would work, and what Josh said was usually right, then who was he to argue. With his usual pleasant manner he thanked Josh and told him he would see him at the usual time tomorrow.

            It wasn’t easy getting the pin. Josh had told him to heat it up before applying the lance to the said spot, but the head itself started to get in the way and it took him three goes to pick up the pin. With shaking fingers he pressed the now red hot pin an inch from the head before he pressed down.

            Just before he drowned under the copious amount of pus and ooze that washed over him, he made a mental note to question someone else if this ever happened again, or at least to mention the size of the spot.