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He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. It could be there. But he had to; he knew that. If he didn’t open his eyes, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he didn’t open them now. Right now. This very moment. Now.
It was there. Still there. Just like every other day. Just like yesterday, just like the day before. He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t seen it. To him, every day was exactly the same. No variation. No change. Everyday he would open his eyes and it would be there, in the same place every day, never moving, never doing anything. And then it would start. The noises, the muttering. And it wouldn’t stop. Not until the light went away and he stopped noticing things. Not till he was asleep. And even then it would still go on. Long into the darkness. Haunting him. Then he would make for the door, he didn’t know where it went, and he didn’t care. If it would get him away from that, that thing, then it wouldn’t matter where it went. So he would move towards the door. But the muttering would get louder, angrier, until it would make him stop dead. If he ever made it to the door, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he reached the door. Anything. He didn’t even want to think about it. So he moved away from the door, back to his original position. There he would sit and look at it. Look at it and wonder. Try and remember. But that was bad. It didn’t like that. That would make it get angrier, louder. So he didn’t think about that either. Then she would come. The only other person he ever saw. She would knock on the door, then open it. She would put a tray of food down next to him, and she would then tell him to take a shower, and he would. The same every day. He would then eat the food; it didn’t taste of anything, and that would make everything be better, quieter. The noises that he could hear would go away. But the muttering would not go away. It would never go away. Never.
He heard a knock that made him stir. It was her. She pushed open the door and looked at him. It was not a frightening look, not a threatening look. Just a look, a glance. But today there was something else there in the eyes of this woman. Something that he had not seen before. Something that told him, “today will be different”. Pity. She felt sorry for him. He could tell. Maybe this was the day that he would talk to her. The day that he would finally be able to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth.
“Thank you”
But he couldn’t. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
“Eat”, she said. She looked at him, and he looked at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. But no. He just looked back to the corner. The same corner he was always looking at, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Maybe he sees something there that the rest of us just don’t see, she thought. Maybe.
“Take a shower”
She knew he would. He did whatever she told him to do. He would dance an Irish jig if she asked him nicely enough. She pointed to the shower in the corner.
“I’ll turn it on in five minutes. Get undressed”
He stood up and started to get undressed, never taking his eyes off of the corner. She closed the door and stood outside for a minute. She did feel sorry for him. Even though she knew what he had done, she still didn’t think that anybody deserved this, no matter what they had done. He never did anything. There were lots of strange, even crazy people here, but he was different from the rest. There was something about him. He had something in his eyes that she didn’t understand. Something different. She turned on the water and kept going on her rounds.
“…shower today…five minutes…undressed”
He wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, but he understood anyway. So he started to get undressed. He never took his eyes off it the whole time he was doing this. Just incase. You never knew when it was going to turn round. It could happen at any time. But he was pretty sure that it would turn around eventually. He could only make out a few of the words that it was muttering, if they were words. Who knows?
“…help…please…again…no”
And there was one other word that it said that he could hear above the muttering. It began with an “F”, and had a “TH” in there somewhere as well, it sounded like “feather”, but it could have been something else.
He walked over to the shower and waited for the water to come through the head.
If he had to describe what was in the corner, he would have to say it resembled a monkey, it was hairy all over, and it was hunched over, with it’s legs bent, in a squatting position, like a chimp eating a banana. But it had something on its head, something that he recognized. It was a hat, a pork pie hat. He didn’t know what it was actually called, but that phrase made sense to him anyway. Of course, it could always be something else. Something worse. He had never seen its face. It had never turned around. In a strange way, he hoped that it never would, but a part of him also hoped that it would turn around. Sometimes he thought about touching it. But he never did. Who knew what would happen if he touched it? Anything could happen if he touched it. Anything.
The water shocked him so much that he almost cried out. Almost. But he didn’t. Somehow he knew that if he had shouted out, something bad would happen. Something terrible. He just stood there, letting the water wash over him. It was cold water, but he didn’t notice. He was used to it. It was the same temperature everyday. Then the water stopped running and he just stood there. Waiting for her to come in with a towel.
She pushed open the door. He was standing there, under the shower that was now dry. She looked at him. So pathetic. She felt sorry for him. He couldn’t do anything he wanted like she could. He had to be told what to do and what not to do. In the time that she had been here, he had not changed at all. This day might as well have been any other day in the last seventeen years that she had spent here. He was exactly the same as he was then, and she presumed that he always had been, and would be. She jolted herself out of this and threw him the towel she held in her hand.
“Here, put this on”, she said to him, as the towel landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and, as he looked up into her eyes, he said it. He said what he had been trying to say to her for as long as he could remember. He said, “Thank you”.
She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. “Sorry, what?”
“Thank you”, he said it again. He now had a big smile on his face. She had never seen him smile like that before. She had never seen him smile before. It was the best smile she had ever seen. So she smiled back and said “my pleasure”. He was so happy with himself. He finally overcame his fear. He looked over to the corner and she saw his smile change to a terrible look of fear. He looked so scared that it frightened her. She followed his gaze to the corner and saw nothing. But he was trying to scream, with no sound coming out. He was mouthing something. Something like “Father”.
He saw its face. It was his father. But it was not the father that he would have liked to remember, the father who taught him to ride a bike, the father who took him to the cinema, and the father who took him to school and helped him with his homework. No, it was the father who he had killed because of what he had done to his mother, the father he had killed because he was tired of all the shouting, all the beatings, all the neighbours whispering behind the hedges to each other. The face he saw was not the father who he loved. It was the bloody mess of a face that he had seen before they sent him here. It was only half a face, with the muscles underneath exposed and tangled with the fragments of bone that were left. Even with all this mess, he still knew. He still remembered what he had done, what had happened, how he had laid in wait for him after he came home from work, with his father’s hunting shotgun in his hand. How he had told him that he couldn’t do that, and he would have to pay. How he had squeezed the trigger and watched the blood spray on the door. And how he had waited until his mother came home. Then when she threatened to call the police, how he had shot her in the back, and the nosy old lady from next door who had come over to investigate all the noise, the old lady who was always interfering, who he had wanted to get for such a long time. It all came back to him at once, and he fell to the floor, with the same look of horror on his face, clutching his chest. She ran over to him, and shook him, shouting his name
“Are you alright? What happened? Say something!”,
But he was gone. She saw that far away look in his eyes that she had seen when old Mr. Hancock hanged himself with the sheets from his bed. He was gone.
As the light faded from the outside, he saw her face. She was looking at him. Scared and concerned. He looked over at the same corner he had looked at since he was put in here. But his time, for the first time, there was nothing. It was empty. There was no noise, no chattering. It was gone. He closed his eyes and let himself slip away.
It was there. Still there. Just like every other day. Just like yesterday, just like the day before. He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t seen it. To him, every day was exactly the same. No variation. No change. Everyday he would open his eyes and it would be there, in the same place every day, never moving, never doing anything. And then it would start. The noises, the muttering. And it wouldn’t stop. Not until the light went away and he stopped noticing things. Not till he was asleep. And even then it would still go on. Long into the darkness. Haunting him. Then he would make for the door, he didn’t know where it went, and he didn’t care. If it would get him away from that, that thing, then it wouldn’t matter where it went. So he would move towards the door. But the muttering would get louder, angrier, until it would make him stop dead. If he ever made it to the door, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he reached the door. Anything. He didn’t even want to think about it. So he moved away from the door, back to his original position. There he would sit and look at it. Look at it and wonder. Try and remember. But that was bad. It didn’t like that. That would make it get angrier, louder. So he didn’t think about that either. Then she would come. The only other person he ever saw. She would knock on the door, then open it. She would put a tray of food down next to him, and she would then tell him to take a shower, and he would. The same every day. He would then eat the food; it didn’t taste of anything, and that would make everything be better, quieter. The noises that he could hear would go away. But the muttering would not go away. It would never go away. Never.
He heard a knock that made him stir. It was her. She pushed open the door and looked at him. It was not a frightening look, not a threatening look. Just a look, a glance. But today there was something else there in the eyes of this woman. Something that he had not seen before. Something that told him, “today will be different”. Pity. She felt sorry for him. He could tell. Maybe this was the day that he would talk to her. The day that he would finally be able to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth.
“Thank you”
But he couldn’t. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
“Eat”, she said. She looked at him, and he looked at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. But no. He just looked back to the corner. The same corner he was always looking at, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Maybe he sees something there that the rest of us just don’t see, she thought. Maybe.
“Take a shower”
She knew he would. He did whatever she told him to do. He would dance an Irish jig if she asked him nicely enough. She pointed to the shower in the corner.
“I’ll turn it on in five minutes. Get undressed”
He stood up and started to get undressed, never taking his eyes off of the corner. She closed the door and stood outside for a minute. She did feel sorry for him. Even though she knew what he had done, she still didn’t think that anybody deserved this, no matter what they had done. He never did anything. There were lots of strange, even crazy people here, but he was different from the rest. There was something about him. He had something in his eyes that she didn’t understand. Something different. She turned on the water and kept going on her rounds.
“…shower today…five minutes…undressed”
He wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, but he understood anyway. So he started to get undressed. He never took his eyes off it the whole time he was doing this. Just incase. You never knew when it was going to turn round. It could happen at any time. But he was pretty sure that it would turn around eventually. He could only make out a few of the words that it was muttering, if they were words. Who knows?
“…help…please…again…no”
And there was one other word that it said that he could hear above the muttering. It began with an “F”, and had a “TH” in there somewhere as well, it sounded like “feather”, but it could have been something else.
He walked over to the shower and waited for the water to come through the head.
If he had to describe what was in the corner, he would have to say it resembled a monkey, it was hairy all over, and it was hunched over, with it’s legs bent, in a squatting position, like a chimp eating a banana. But it had something on its head, something that he recognized. It was a hat, a pork pie hat. He didn’t know what it was actually called, but that phrase made sense to him anyway. Of course, it could always be something else. Something worse. He had never seen its face. It had never turned around. In a strange way, he hoped that it never would, but a part of him also hoped that it would turn around. Sometimes he thought about touching it. But he never did. Who knew what would happen if he touched it? Anything could happen if he touched it. Anything.
The water shocked him so much that he almost cried out. Almost. But he didn’t. Somehow he knew that if he had shouted out, something bad would happen. Something terrible. He just stood there, letting the water wash over him. It was cold water, but he didn’t notice. He was used to it. It was the same temperature everyday. Then the water stopped running and he just stood there. Waiting for her to come in with a towel.
She pushed open the door. He was standing there, under the shower that was now dry. She looked at him. So pathetic. She felt sorry for him. He couldn’t do anything he wanted like she could. He had to be told what to do and what not to do. In the time that she had been here, he had not changed at all. This day might as well have been any other day in the last seventeen years that she had spent here. He was exactly the same as he was then, and she presumed that he always had been, and would be. She jolted herself out of this and threw him the towel she held in her hand.
“Here, put this on”, she said to him, as the towel landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and, as he looked up into her eyes, he said it. He said what he had been trying to say to her for as long as he could remember. He said, “Thank you”.
She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. “Sorry, what?”
“Thank you”, he said it again. He now had a big smile on his face. She had never seen him smile like that before. She had never seen him smile before. It was the best smile she had ever seen. So she smiled back and said “my pleasure”. He was so happy with himself. He finally overcame his fear. He looked over to the corner and she saw his smile change to a terrible look of fear. He looked so scared that it frightened her. She followed his gaze to the corner and saw nothing. But he was trying to scream, with no sound coming out. He was mouthing something. Something like “Father”.
He saw its face. It was his father. But it was not the father that he would have liked to remember, the father who taught him to ride a bike, the father who took him to the cinema, and the father who took him to school and helped him with his homework. No, it was the father who he had killed because of what he had done to his mother, the father he had killed because he was tired of all the shouting, all the beatings, all the neighbours whispering behind the hedges to each other. The face he saw was not the father who he loved. It was the bloody mess of a face that he had seen before they sent him here. It was only half a face, with the muscles underneath exposed and tangled with the fragments of bone that were left. Even with all this mess, he still knew. He still remembered what he had done, what had happened, how he had laid in wait for him after he came home from work, with his father’s hunting shotgun in his hand. How he had told him that he couldn’t do that, and he would have to pay. How he had squeezed the trigger and watched the blood spray on the door. And how he had waited until his mother came home. Then when she threatened to call the police, how he had shot her in the back, and the nosy old lady from next door who had come over to investigate all the noise, the old lady who was always interfering, who he had wanted to get for such a long time. It all came back to him at once, and he fell to the floor, with the same look of horror on his face, clutching his chest. She ran over to him, and shook him, shouting his name
“Are you alright? What happened? Say something!”,
But he was gone. She saw that far away look in his eyes that she had seen when old Mr. Hancock hanged himself with the sheets from his bed. He was gone.
As the light faded from the outside, he saw her face. She was looking at him. Scared and concerned. He looked over at the same corner he had looked at since he was put in here. But his time, for the first time, there was nothing. It was empty. There was no noise, no chattering. It was gone. He closed his eyes and let himself slip away.
Only the french know.
What are you talking about?
Gerrid was like a little school girl! HA!
OMG!!! I won!
woohohhohoh!
Thank you SR!
I had completely forgotten about this post.
woohohhohoh!
Thank you SR!
I had completely forgotten about this post.
Yes. You can only imagine what that version was like...
soft porn eh?
Why thankyou.
I like disturbing.
It was originally a sodt porn story, but I had to change it.
I like disturbing.
It was originally a sodt porn story, but I had to change it.
Wow, a really good story. I had to read it twice. It was quite disturbing, which is good because I like storys that are quite disturbing.
Ros
Ros
He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. It could be there. But he had to; he knew that. If he didn’t open his eyes, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he didn’t open them now. Right now. This very moment. Now.
It was there. Still there. Just like every other day. Just like yesterday, just like the day before. He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t seen it. To him, every day was exactly the same. No variation. No change. Everyday he would open his eyes and it would be there, in the same place every day, never moving, never doing anything. And then it would start. The noises, the muttering. And it wouldn’t stop. Not until the light went away and he stopped noticing things. Not till he was asleep. And even then it would still go on. Long into the darkness. Haunting him. Then he would make for the door, he didn’t know where it went, and he didn’t care. If it would get him away from that, that thing, then it wouldn’t matter where it went. So he would move towards the door. But the muttering would get louder, angrier, until it would make him stop dead. If he ever made it to the door, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he reached the door. Anything. He didn’t even want to think about it. So he moved away from the door, back to his original position. There he would sit and look at it. Look at it and wonder. Try and remember. But that was bad. It didn’t like that. That would make it get angrier, louder. So he didn’t think about that either. Then she would come. The only other person he ever saw. She would knock on the door, then open it. She would put a tray of food down next to him, and she would then tell him to take a shower, and he would. The same every day. He would then eat the food; it didn’t taste of anything, and that would make everything be better, quieter. The noises that he could hear would go away. But the muttering would not go away. It would never go away. Never.
He heard a knock that made him stir. It was her. She pushed open the door and looked at him. It was not a frightening look, not a threatening look. Just a look, a glance. But today there was something else there in the eyes of this woman. Something that he had not seen before. Something that told him, “today will be different”. Pity. She felt sorry for him. He could tell. Maybe this was the day that he would talk to her. The day that he would finally be able to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth.
“Thank you”
But he couldn’t. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
“Eat”, she said. She looked at him, and he looked at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. But no. He just looked back to the corner. The same corner he was always looking at, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Maybe he sees something there that the rest of us just don’t see, she thought. Maybe.
“Take a shower”
She knew he would. He did whatever she told him to do. He would dance an Irish jig if she asked him nicely enough. She pointed to the shower in the corner.
“I’ll turn it on in five minutes. Get undressed”
He stood up and started to get undressed, never taking his eyes off of the corner. She closed the door and stood outside for a minute. She did feel sorry for him. Even though she knew what he had done, she still didn’t think that anybody deserved this, no matter what they had done. He never did anything. There were lots of strange, even crazy people here, but he was different from the rest. There was something about him. He had something in his eyes that she didn’t understand. Something different. She turned on the water and kept going on her rounds.
“…shower today…five minutes…undressed”
He wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, but he understood anyway. So he started to get undressed. He never took his eyes off it the whole time he was doing this. Just incase. You never knew when it was going to turn round. It could happen at any time. But he was pretty sure that it would turn around eventually. He could only make out a few of the words that it was muttering, if they were words. Who knows?
“…help…please…again…no”
And there was one other word that it said that he could hear above the muttering. It began with an “F”, and had a “TH” in there somewhere as well, it sounded like “feather”, but it could have been something else.
He walked over to the shower and waited for the water to come through the head.
If he had to describe what was in the corner, he would have to say it resembled a monkey, it was hairy all over, and it was hunched over, with it’s legs bent, in a squatting position, like a chimp eating a banana. But it had something on its head, something that he recognized. It was a hat, a pork pie hat. He didn’t know what it was actually called, but that phrase made sense to him anyway. Of course, it could always be something else. Something worse. He had never seen its face. It had never turned around. In a strange way, he hoped that it never would, but a part of him also hoped that it would turn around. Sometimes he thought about touching it. But he never did. Who knew what would happen if he touched it? Anything could happen if he touched it. Anything.
The water shocked him so much that he almost cried out. Almost. But he didn’t. Somehow he knew that if he had shouted out, something bad would happen. Something terrible. He just stood there, letting the water wash over him. It was cold water, but he didn’t notice. He was used to it. It was the same temperature everyday. Then the water stopped running and he just stood there. Waiting for her to come in with a towel.
She pushed open the door. He was standing there, under the shower that was now dry. She looked at him. So pathetic. She felt sorry for him. He couldn’t do anything he wanted like she could. He had to be told what to do and what not to do. In the time that she had been here, he had not changed at all. This day might as well have been any other day in the last seventeen years that she had spent here. He was exactly the same as he was then, and she presumed that he always had been, and would be. She jolted herself out of this and threw him the towel she held in her hand.
“Here, put this on”, she said to him, as the towel landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and, as he looked up into her eyes, he said it. He said what he had been trying to say to her for as long as he could remember. He said, “Thank you”.
She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. “Sorry, what?”
“Thank you”, he said it again. He now had a big smile on his face. She had never seen him smile like that before. She had never seen him smile before. It was the best smile she had ever seen. So she smiled back and said “my pleasure”. He was so happy with himself. He finally overcame his fear. He looked over to the corner and she saw his smile change to a terrible look of fear. He looked so scared that it frightened her. She followed his gaze to the corner and saw nothing. But he was trying to scream, with no sound coming out. He was mouthing something. Something like “Father”.
He saw its face. It was his father. But it was not the father that he would have liked to remember, the father who taught him to ride a bike, the father who took him to the cinema, and the father who took him to school and helped him with his homework. No, it was the father who he had killed because of what he had done to his mother, the father he had killed because he was tired of all the shouting, all the beatings, all the neighbours whispering behind the hedges to each other. The face he saw was not the father who he loved. It was the bloody mess of a face that he had seen before they sent him here. It was only half a face, with the muscles underneath exposed and tangled with the fragments of bone that were left. Even with all this mess, he still knew. He still remembered what he had done, what had happened, how he had laid in wait for him after he came home from work, with his father’s hunting shotgun in his hand. How he had told him that he couldn’t do that, and he would have to pay. How he had squeezed the trigger and watched the blood spray on the door. And how he had waited until his mother came home. Then when she threatened to call the police, how he had shot her in the back, and the nosy old lady from next door who had come over to investigate all the noise, the old lady who was always interfering, who he had wanted to get for such a long time. It all came back to him at once, and he fell to the floor, with the same look of horror on his face, clutching his chest. She ran over to him, and shook him, shouting his name
“Are you alright? What happened? Say something!”,
But he was gone. She saw that far away look in his eyes that she had seen when old Mr. Hancock hanged himself with the sheets from his bed. He was gone.
As the light faded from the outside, he saw her face. She was looking at him. Scared and concerned. He looked over at the same corner he had looked at since he was put in here. But his time, for the first time, there was nothing. It was empty. There was no noise, no chattering. It was gone. He closed his eyes and let himself slip away.
It was there. Still there. Just like every other day. Just like yesterday, just like the day before. He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t seen it. To him, every day was exactly the same. No variation. No change. Everyday he would open his eyes and it would be there, in the same place every day, never moving, never doing anything. And then it would start. The noises, the muttering. And it wouldn’t stop. Not until the light went away and he stopped noticing things. Not till he was asleep. And even then it would still go on. Long into the darkness. Haunting him. Then he would make for the door, he didn’t know where it went, and he didn’t care. If it would get him away from that, that thing, then it wouldn’t matter where it went. So he would move towards the door. But the muttering would get louder, angrier, until it would make him stop dead. If he ever made it to the door, who knew what would happen? Anything could happen if he reached the door. Anything. He didn’t even want to think about it. So he moved away from the door, back to his original position. There he would sit and look at it. Look at it and wonder. Try and remember. But that was bad. It didn’t like that. That would make it get angrier, louder. So he didn’t think about that either. Then she would come. The only other person he ever saw. She would knock on the door, then open it. She would put a tray of food down next to him, and she would then tell him to take a shower, and he would. The same every day. He would then eat the food; it didn’t taste of anything, and that would make everything be better, quieter. The noises that he could hear would go away. But the muttering would not go away. It would never go away. Never.
He heard a knock that made him stir. It was her. She pushed open the door and looked at him. It was not a frightening look, not a threatening look. Just a look, a glance. But today there was something else there in the eyes of this woman. Something that he had not seen before. Something that told him, “today will be different”. Pity. She felt sorry for him. He could tell. Maybe this was the day that he would talk to her. The day that he would finally be able to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth.
“Thank you”
But he couldn’t. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
“Eat”, she said. She looked at him, and he looked at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. But no. He just looked back to the corner. The same corner he was always looking at, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Maybe he sees something there that the rest of us just don’t see, she thought. Maybe.
“Take a shower”
She knew he would. He did whatever she told him to do. He would dance an Irish jig if she asked him nicely enough. She pointed to the shower in the corner.
“I’ll turn it on in five minutes. Get undressed”
He stood up and started to get undressed, never taking his eyes off of the corner. She closed the door and stood outside for a minute. She did feel sorry for him. Even though she knew what he had done, she still didn’t think that anybody deserved this, no matter what they had done. He never did anything. There were lots of strange, even crazy people here, but he was different from the rest. There was something about him. He had something in his eyes that she didn’t understand. Something different. She turned on the water and kept going on her rounds.
“…shower today…five minutes…undressed”
He wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, but he understood anyway. So he started to get undressed. He never took his eyes off it the whole time he was doing this. Just incase. You never knew when it was going to turn round. It could happen at any time. But he was pretty sure that it would turn around eventually. He could only make out a few of the words that it was muttering, if they were words. Who knows?
“…help…please…again…no”
And there was one other word that it said that he could hear above the muttering. It began with an “F”, and had a “TH” in there somewhere as well, it sounded like “feather”, but it could have been something else.
He walked over to the shower and waited for the water to come through the head.
If he had to describe what was in the corner, he would have to say it resembled a monkey, it was hairy all over, and it was hunched over, with it’s legs bent, in a squatting position, like a chimp eating a banana. But it had something on its head, something that he recognized. It was a hat, a pork pie hat. He didn’t know what it was actually called, but that phrase made sense to him anyway. Of course, it could always be something else. Something worse. He had never seen its face. It had never turned around. In a strange way, he hoped that it never would, but a part of him also hoped that it would turn around. Sometimes he thought about touching it. But he never did. Who knew what would happen if he touched it? Anything could happen if he touched it. Anything.
The water shocked him so much that he almost cried out. Almost. But he didn’t. Somehow he knew that if he had shouted out, something bad would happen. Something terrible. He just stood there, letting the water wash over him. It was cold water, but he didn’t notice. He was used to it. It was the same temperature everyday. Then the water stopped running and he just stood there. Waiting for her to come in with a towel.
She pushed open the door. He was standing there, under the shower that was now dry. She looked at him. So pathetic. She felt sorry for him. He couldn’t do anything he wanted like she could. He had to be told what to do and what not to do. In the time that she had been here, he had not changed at all. This day might as well have been any other day in the last seventeen years that she had spent here. He was exactly the same as he was then, and she presumed that he always had been, and would be. She jolted herself out of this and threw him the towel she held in her hand.
“Here, put this on”, she said to him, as the towel landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and, as he looked up into her eyes, he said it. He said what he had been trying to say to her for as long as he could remember. He said, “Thank you”.
She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. “Sorry, what?”
“Thank you”, he said it again. He now had a big smile on his face. She had never seen him smile like that before. She had never seen him smile before. It was the best smile she had ever seen. So she smiled back and said “my pleasure”. He was so happy with himself. He finally overcame his fear. He looked over to the corner and she saw his smile change to a terrible look of fear. He looked so scared that it frightened her. She followed his gaze to the corner and saw nothing. But he was trying to scream, with no sound coming out. He was mouthing something. Something like “Father”.
He saw its face. It was his father. But it was not the father that he would have liked to remember, the father who taught him to ride a bike, the father who took him to the cinema, and the father who took him to school and helped him with his homework. No, it was the father who he had killed because of what he had done to his mother, the father he had killed because he was tired of all the shouting, all the beatings, all the neighbours whispering behind the hedges to each other. The face he saw was not the father who he loved. It was the bloody mess of a face that he had seen before they sent him here. It was only half a face, with the muscles underneath exposed and tangled with the fragments of bone that were left. Even with all this mess, he still knew. He still remembered what he had done, what had happened, how he had laid in wait for him after he came home from work, with his father’s hunting shotgun in his hand. How he had told him that he couldn’t do that, and he would have to pay. How he had squeezed the trigger and watched the blood spray on the door. And how he had waited until his mother came home. Then when she threatened to call the police, how he had shot her in the back, and the nosy old lady from next door who had come over to investigate all the noise, the old lady who was always interfering, who he had wanted to get for such a long time. It all came back to him at once, and he fell to the floor, with the same look of horror on his face, clutching his chest. She ran over to him, and shook him, shouting his name
“Are you alright? What happened? Say something!”,
But he was gone. She saw that far away look in his eyes that she had seen when old Mr. Hancock hanged himself with the sheets from his bed. He was gone.
As the light faded from the outside, he saw her face. She was looking at him. Scared and concerned. He looked over at the same corner he had looked at since he was put in here. But his time, for the first time, there was nothing. It was empty. There was no noise, no chattering. It was gone. He closed his eyes and let himself slip away.