The Night Never Forgets

PHILIP

The cold night glares at me, pulling each strand of hair on my now not-so-smooth skin. I feel so naked out here, like the night could see the horror locked within my heart, the secret buried, never to be dug up. It's all an imagination I know; for one, I am clothed to my teeth, and I am aware that the night cannot see; it's all in my mind. Why is this different, though? This is not the first secret I have had to store away. For eighteen years, I have carried another secret, one much more frightening. So why is this different? Why does it feel like I am surrounded by it? The darkness envelops me, causing each breath to feel like a struggle; with shaky hands, I take a puff of my inhaler, desperate for air; the first puff feels like nothing, then a second puff. That does the magic; with a deep breath, I feel each muscle begin to relax, 'I got this,' I said to myself, I got this. I stand from the dusty old wooden chair and glance at my watch; this gesture would not come without a smile on a typical day. Each time I glanced at the beautiful piece, the gold contrast with green metal dangling on my wrist felt exciting, the beauty of it. Today, however, is not a typical day. Today it only serves the purpose of time, which I do not have the luxury of; I take a step forward to begin the task at hand.

Today is the best day of my life, I told myself with childish excitement. I couldn't contain myself. Today I marry the love of my life. I waltz into the kitchen for a cup of coffee; Emily is already having it brewed. The scent filled every corner of the tiny kitchen. What would I do without her, I ask myself? I cannot remember a time in my life when she wasn't there. As a little boy, I would run to her whenever dad started drinking; he would drink on end and look for whom to pour out his frustration on. Mum was always the poor victim; sometimes, my little feet weren't fast enough, or maybe I was too caught up with a new toy, then I would be the victim. Emily would often place herself between dad and me on such occasions and receive the punch meant for me. Why didn't mum ever stand up for me, I wondered? 'Maybe she was too weak nursing her wounds to take on another's, I guessed to myself. I poured myself a cup of coffee, kissed Emily on the chic with excitement, and waltzed outside to gasp in the last droplets of the morning dew. It felt amazing. That was two months ago.

Sam rushed into the makeshift office in my tiny apartment. I had never seen him so flushed before. It seemed like he was being chased by a band of an angry mob; why did I think of that? Am not sure. Anyways I rushed up to him with a confused face, curious as to what had come over him. We have to leave now; he said in a hurry as he began gathering a few of my files and tossing them into my briefcase. Am confused, and it's written all over me. Calm down! I managed to utter in a panicked tone. 'what's come over you? 'What's happening? I say to him, 'Put those files down' I try to take the files back from him, 'I am not going anywhere, and neither are you if you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I managed to let out in a commanding tone this time.

Sam continuous to look around as if to figure out what's essential and what can be left behind, oblivious at my attempt to get an answer from him 'he looks very shaken, though,' I thought to myself. This time I reach out to him and give his shoulders a thug until he is seated 'please tell me what is going,' I repeat to him, with worry in my tone. He looks at me and succumbs in a defeated manner; he whispers, 'Josh is dead' he looks up to me with tears in his eyes. 'I killed him, Philip' 'I killed him,' he repeated by this time; his entire body is trembling. Blood leaves my veins. I am as white as snow; my feet feel rooted to the ground. 'I cannot be hearing right,' I say to myself, 'this must be a dream; it must be. I look at Sam at the same time he raises his head to look at me; our eyes lock on each other, and we both know what must be done. That was yesterday.

My wedding day. The day that was supposed to be the best day of my life, the day I looked forward to the most from the moment I met Pearl in that hideous, boring-looking old coffee shop. I can still see her gliding out of the shop with eyes that made the sun look dim, hair dancing in response to the soft spring winds, and her smile was the most beautiful I had ever seen. I catch myself I have no right to think of her; I am too filthy to retain such beautiful memories. My wedding day; was the worst day of my life—the irony of it. If I could turn back time, I would go back and erase it, erase every bit of it. Maybe I could find a time machine somewhere and go back in time, 'that would be awesome,' I smile to myself, lost in daydreams. The long, harsh scream of a barn owl jolts me back to reality. 'I hate the dam bird,' I hissed and stared at the task at hand.

I stand over the horrific remains of what was once Josh Meyers. My best friend. I should hate Sam for this, but I do not; he is my brother. Where do I begin? I couldn't seem to decide; his body was so disfigured I felt nauseated. His intestines fell out of his open stomach, his arms and legs carved finely from each joint with a hacksaw and laid at different corners of the empty barn, his head hanging on to his neck with thin skin and tiny bones, his mouth wide open as if in shock. I wonder what his last thoughts were; was he shocked to see Sam do this to him? or was the apparent excruciating pain the dominant thought? How could Sam carry out such a poor attempt at getting rid of the body and then abandon this burden on me? I tried to put each part into the camp bag I had brought with me while looking around and ensuring I did not leave any part behind. I glanced at my watch again; the night was almost over I needed to pick up the pace. 'Get over here and help me lift this bag,' I muttered to Sam, who had been pacing the empty barn back and forth, each stride simultaneous with the puff of his cigarette. This must be the sixth stick, I thought to myself, almost feeling sorry for him. He walks up to me, bends at the opposite end of the camp bag, one… two… three we both lift the bag with surprisingly steady hands and struggle out of the barn, our thin body's wobbling with each stride. 'What if the truck is gone? I quickly thought. 'What would we do'? 'What if someone sees us? 'What if the police are out there waiting for us? Relief rushed through me as I saw the truck and no one in Sight. We toss Josh's body into the back of the stolen Hilux; Sam takes one last drag of his cigarette and hops into the passenger's seat beside me. We drive to the family crematorium struggle with the camp bag ones again until we are in front of the chamber. We look at each other; the unspoken word says it all; with one last sigh, we toss the bag into the chamber. Relief; finally, all I feel is Relief. Now to go clean up the barn.

MATHEW

I hate it when Bruno runs away; now I must chase at him, he seems to do this more frequently now, and I am fed up. He chooses when I am most tired or hungry to take off. Ma says I shouldn't come back without him, but it is late, and I am tired. I run after the little mutt to the old, abandoned barn; my tiny feet hurt. Usually, it's dark, and I have to turn on the touch ma makes me carry around my neck, but today there is a little light coming from inside the barn. I want to yell Bruno's name, but my instincts, at least that's what ma calls it, make me move more gently and quietly; the night is dark and quiet, even the crickets seem to be asleep. The soft bed of grasses pushes into my bare feet as I stride towards the corner of the barn. There is a tiny hole between the smelly barn wood, it's small, but it's big enough to peek. I see them. All three of them. The dead and the living.