“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”― Søren Kierkegaard

The chilly afternoon was typical of October 2013.

A twenty-two-year-old Malcolm bore a talon knife in one hand. He pounced from the ditch between the bushes and tightly wrapped himself on the back of a wild alligator. It tried to snap at Malcolm, but he had a quick grip on its jaw while pinning it with his legs. The creature writhed under Malcolm’s weight and with a tug, Malcolm had turned over onto his back.

The belly of the wild beast was now facing the sky. Malcolm made a seamlessly brought bowie knife across the nape of the alligator’s throat. The gator began to flail, and its dead strength turned itself over. Malcolm pinned the knee onto the gator and put the knife to the side. Malcolm then pulled the slit open. Malcolm’s knee cut off the creature’s blood supply at the base, forcing all to gush forward and out the open wound.

A pool now lay beneath Malcolm as the animal took its last gurgle. He grabbed his bloodied knife and wiped it off against his camo pant leg. After sheathing it, Malcolm stood and clapped both hands together to clean them off before the final wipe on his flannel jacket.

A rustling from the same shrubbery caught his eye; he turned in time to witness the bolt action rifle first, then followed by the face of Kenneth Johnson. Kenneth wore a similar camo flannel, but he was relatively clean. He stepped out of the hiding spot with trepidation, “Whelp…” He spoke. “That works. I guess.”

Malcolm thumped his chest. “Goddamn right it works!” He began an admiration of his art. “Fucking Steve Irwin got factory reset by a stingray and here I am, topping off his whole career!”

Kenneth smiled. “So does this make for a mantlepiece or what?”

“Are you kidding me!?” Malcolm laughed. “There are Vikings who wouldn’t have wanted to do this!”

Kenneth drew his phone, “So that’s a ‘yes’. You want to capture the moment?”

“Do it with my phone! I don’t want any posts on social media!” Malcolm ordered. “Then get over here and help me drag this thing.”

Kenneth bobbed himself cockily. “Roger that Spacey!”

Malcolm and Kenneth rounded the end of the mushy trail path and emerged in the parking lot. Kenneth’s Ford Ranger sat there, and it was caked in mud from the bottom up. They made their way over to the bed and heaved the gator over the latch. It was then that they attached the side straps to hold Malcolm’s kill next to Kenneth’s five-hundred-pounder; one that they barely got back to the truck.

“…given that I went so far as to provide logistical support for this endeavor, you can start by returning to my first question.” Kenneth asked as sweat was dropping from the pair of them.

Malcolm opened the passenger door. “Cause my not being at West Point is none of your business.”

“Well, I’ve seen marines get kicked out of the core, but not for acing the exams!” Kenneth entered the driver’s seat. “Did you pull a Kobayashi Maroo?”

“A what?” Malcolm asked.

“I’m asking if you cheated.”

“How? I was monitored the second time and scored higher!”

Kenneth shrugged. “You could’ve memorized the tests online.”

“If I could memorize them then I could easily study!”

“Alright, touché. Still doesn’t explain yourself but whatever.”

Malcolm waved him down. “Look. I flunked college; I’m not sure how I’d do at West Point.”

“Me too…but again, you aced the ASVAP! Which means you’re not retarded. Socially, yes but not up here!” Kenneth pointed to his head after starting the engine; the truck pulled out of the lot.

“Is that one of your rare compliments?” Malcolm asked

“I don’t compliment people I don’t want to fuck.” Kenneth looked over with a squint. “All I’m saying is you’re not some kind of daffy downy.”

Malcolm laughed. “Then I guess you’re not a Homo-Queerus for banging your friend.”

Kenneth defended. “Banging with my friend.”

“Rationalize however you want.” Malcolm grinned.

Kenneth deflected. “And you rationalize not going to West Point because?”

“…Because you can’t get away with shit on a campus...” Malcolm blurted. “Not anymore.”

“True that!” Kenneth laughed. “Though I’m hearing that some colleges let you select a gender preference for your roommate now. Here I’m still waiting to get a chick as my battle buddy.”

Malcolm pointed at him. “You singlehandedly prove why the units would have to be separated.”

Kenneth gaffed. “Me? Why?”

Malcolm became sarcastic. “Well gee whizz, FUCKAROO, I really can’t say.”

“I do it consensually and poetically.”

Malcolm gasped. “You bragged about your tag teaming like it was a touchdown you made.”

“And what says you? Marine bootlicker?”

Malcolm was confused. “What about the marines?”

Kenneth cocked a brow. “Don’t ya’ll like to ‘make men’ of each other?”

Malcolm paused. “In Nazi Fashion? I never did that.”

“You mean to tell me that the marines don’t rape each other for a hazing ritual?”

“Oh no, I’ve seen that happen.” Malcolm nodded. “But everyone knew better than to prank me.”

“Well, that’s good to know. What’s your retaliation?”

Malcolm stared at his fellow Sergeant with a laugh. “...Well, I’m not gonna ‘counterattack’…”

“You’re not letting me live that down, are you?”

Malcolm’s eyes blackened again. “Oh no…”

Kenneth hit the console’s play button. “Have you lived down any of that rock-rap I sent you?”

“I perused them.” Malcolm nodded.

“I got Hollywood Undead for you!”

“Play it if you want. But I think I’d rather just take a nap so keep it down.” Malcolm yawned.

“I thought you had a soft spot for them.”

“I do. But I’m I’m cranking the seat back.” And Malcolm did so as if someone outside the car had spotted him.

His eyes shut and the pupils quickly rolled to the back of his head as the lights mixed beneath his lids to form an aurora-like dance. A hand rested behind the back of his scalp as Malcolm thought about seeing Meryl once they got back to the city. The thought of her pregnant figure once again made him remember all the names he wanted for the baby.

A thick, Cajun accented voice echoed, only it sounded like Malcolm...

…We could name the child Patrick, Dexter, Norman, Michael…not a lot of women to name daughters after. We could pick from real-life! How about Aileen? Or one of the Manson girls?

...The shadows of homicide and suicide had traded off once more. The chill of death hollowed Malcolm’s bones...

Malcolm opened his eyes and was naked within a strange purple hallway. His heart palpitated as the feeling of rushing water sloshed across his bare feet, but when Malcolm looked down the water was crimson; it flowed past him like a river.

Finally stepping down the hallway, both sides held testaments to Malcolm’s conquests in the form of sarcophagi. They had glass panels that shinned with a purple glaze, yet Malcolm could still see the dead inside, all remarkably well preserved without a sign of physical trauma: they were White, Black, Muslim, few females and fewer younger than him.

Malcolm was on autopilot as he sloshed through the crimson-flooded hallway. He now felt as if there was whiskey coursing with his blood like fuel. In his euphoria, he never thought as to how far the hallway went. He looked back and most of the elaborate coffins were swallowed into the darkness. When Malcolm faced the hall ahead of him, everything changed. These coffins were open on both sides, breathing whatever fictional air Malcolm inhaled, and they seemingly called for him to pick one.

There was a silhouette blocking the light beyond. A human shape: its identity was anonymous. It sloshed down the hallway as Malcolm’s fists clenched, only because the silhouette finally seemed to stop when the hallway hit an end. The figure turned around to smile, a ghostly radiance that startled Malcolm.

His best friend, Javier wore long black sleeves with black jeans, yet his skin was pale as snow. Behind him, he held a hand on an empty casket of his own. Before a sentient thought could finally formulate, Javier’s jaw finally hung loose. “Why not use yourself for a final depiction?” Javier sounded hoarse, like a smoker who’d blown their larynx.

Malcolm trembled. “...I can stop it…”

Javier interrupted. “...That poor woman has no idea who she signed up for.”

Malcolm flared. “Leave Meryl out of this!”

“That’s up to you…” Javier pointed out the final sarcophagus against the wall at the end of the crimson flooded hall. Malcolm then noticed how tiny the final coffin to his right was. Javier continued to stare and grin. “…It’s up to you, it’s up to you, it’s perfectly up to you…”

In a heartbeat, Javier stepped back into the sarcophagi made for him. Naturally, the glass panel shut itself on him. Nothing changed about his appearance, his eyes continued to pierce Malcolm’s soul. Suddenly, Malcolm noticed that the skin was sinking into the flesh, and that flesh was cracking as the decomposition accelerated. The pounding of every coffin in the hallway signaled their closing. The dim lights burned out as Malcolm felt chilly once again.

A hard smack to Malcolm’s legs was the final tether dragging him back to Earth. “Wake up asshole!”

Malcolm’s eyes opened to the roof of Kenneth’s truck. He turned over to see the man leaning over him almost comedically.

“We’re at your place. Get the fuck out of my truck.” Kenneth happily commanded.

Malcolm sat up to see Kenneth was correct. To the imminent right was Malcolm’s apartment complex. “Wait, what about my kill? Did you get it stuffed?” Malcolm looked to the back to only see the tarp covering the bed.

“Chill out. That’s exactly where I’m going next. There’s nowhere you can dice that thing in a normal apartment.”

“So, help me God, if you keep my trophy…”

“I may tax you for it…” Kenneth rubbed his fingers together.

“Kenny.”

“Go back to acting like a civilian.”

Malcolm exited through the passenger door. Kenneth pulled out of the streetside parking lot after Malcolm retrieved his backpack and rifle case. He entered the apartment lobby once the bouncer recognized him. Malcolm then took the stairs as a petulant excuse for exercise. He ascended the flight until he came out to the building’s fourth floor. Malcolm zagged through the hallway corridors until he was upon his apartment, Room One Eighty-Two. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

His apartment was spacious enough to accommodate two other roommates if Malcolm could get them. He stepped through a mock hallway that was cut off after two feet. There was the kitchen to his left and the living room couch dead-ahead of him. The two windows and the drapes had been left open, allowing the noon light to pass through unabated. Malcolm was by the couch which faced right to his plasma TV, and it’s back faced the living room bookcases at the wall. Malcolm plopped himself down with his backpack next to him. He did not care about his stench.

Malcolm looked to the bookcase to contemplate a re-read but he instead tuned the TV over to the news:

The Democrats and Republicans were on the verge to ending the Government shutdown. The Israelis continue to disenfranchise Palestinians as negotiations break down. The General Assembly’s high-level meeting on Nuclear Disarmament goes nowhere. Forensics Investigation of local garbage dumps discover multiple, separated remains connected to the Nightcrawler Case. Pundits debate whether Edward Snowden is a treacherous coward or a national hero. Top it all off, a new doomsday cult was springing up in the bayou, led by another zealous preacher.

Malcolm could barely take it. The apartment had automatic heating, yet he still felt as chilly as he did outside. He cranked the TV at full volume to bombard his senses. He started by putting his phone on its charger in the kitchen island. Malcolm then moved to the second door next to the TV, his bathroom.

The shower was so quick Malcolm already had no memory of it. The thought of returning to his sleep and passing the time until nightfall crossed his mind; but Malcolm feared his own dreams. Malcolm knew that there was only one solution to placate his Carnal Beast. He stared into his own reflection as he dried himself with his towel, and it threatened to seize complete control of him.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

His thoughts turned to the one he cared about.

I’m not letting her see me like that nor can I risk exposing her to it…

...I must fill the coffins...Others in exchange for her...Hmmm. I must be a vampire...

Malcolm proceeded to his bedroom and the bandolier of knives rattled the frame as he shut the door. He checked his closet next to the full-sized bed for any disposable reds. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had forgotten to purchase new clothes; a double check in the dresser to his right confirmed that he was indeed out of kill-shirts.

Fuck. It’s the camo then.

Malcolm sprayed them down with a non-scented disinfectant as a petulant wash job on his previous outfit. Afterwards, he dawned the camo flannel once again. It was then that Malcolm needed a basic plan of attack as well as a weapon and of those, he had plenty.

It was just a question of which sharp brush would channel the Carnal Beast’s desired depiction.

...Both serrated AND sharp, nothing I bought just for cool looks...I already use the American standard when I’m deployed. Is it the Ali-baba knife then?

Malcolm unsheathed it, a six inch and curvy Gurkha. It was acquired from the evidence pile after a rioter tried to take Malcolm’s life back when he was a specialist rank. Fond of the memory, Malcolm placed the blade back in its sheath and tucked it into the coat of the flannel.

Next and most important, came the question of a last stand and if it would come to that. Malcolm took out a small case from the bottom of his bed. Upon opening it, there sat a thirty-caliber revolver and its bullet case next to it.

The silencer wouldn’t fit this. Wherever it is…Not like it matters…If I use this, time’s up for me.

Malcolm now stood in his bedroom mirror. He rubbed his clean head and adjusted the flannel like a nineteen eighties jock. No one would spot the blade holstered on his left, nor the revolver to his right until it was too late. The time was only one in the afternoon.

He could feel the Carnal Beast coming to take the reins and Malcolm knew this was the price for regaining control. He was disturbed by a loud buzzer from his call button to the lobby; Malcolm rushed to the door to respond.

“Hello?” Malcolm asked earnestly.

“MAL!”

Malcolm reeled as if a hand had punched him through the intercom. He had let go before pushing down on the button to speak once again. “Meryl?” he asked.

There was a muffled, “You calm down.” Before a voice returned and focused on Malcolm. “Yea, Mal, it’s David. Mind letting us up?”

“Uh...sure!”

“Please do so, I like seeing you and all.”

Malcolm buzzed them up, unlocked his door, and scrambled to strip himself naked and get the weapons back to their places. He had but forty seconds, which was enough time to unlock the door to his room and strip off the evidence of his intentions.

The apartment door swung open as Malcolm was wrapping the towel around his waist. He stepped out to see his pregnant girlfriend of seven months standing starkly on the kitchen island with her hands at her hips. Next to her was her fraternal twin brother, David.

“Mal!” Meryl yelled. “I’ve been calling you for at least a day!”

Malcolm cocked his head to emphasize the question, “Is this, like…” he scanned her waist, “…your water breaking early?”

“MAL!”

David threw himself between the two of them, his attention on Meryl, “Sis! Not good for the baby!”

“Meryl…” Malcolm stuttered. “My phone ran out of juice halfway through the trip. I just got it back on the charger.”

Her aggravation let loose tears from her eyes, which confused Malcolm even more. David pulled her close without hugging her. “Uh, look…” he started, “We decided it was best to show up before the police did-“

“Whoa! What the FUCK! I should have qualified immunity!” Malcolm paused. “I didn’t do shit!”

“You’re not in trouble, bro!” David held his hand out. “It’s uh…you’re going to want to come with us to the hospital.”

“Because?”

Suddenly Meryl broke from David and crossed the room. Just as Malcolm started to think he should have been holding her, she was pulling him into her shoulder. Suddenly, Meryl whispered, “Your parents got into a wreck yesterday.”

Malcolm looked at her, nearly breaking the embrace. “How?”

“Someone hit them.” She answered. “The police said they got pushed off the street.”

Malcolm stammered. “...Are they dead?”

“They’re both critical…The doctors were asking where you were.”

“I…” Malcolm was perplexed by the timing.

“Honey?”

“Just let me throw something on.” Macolm looked at David. “Could you wait in the car? We’ll be right down.”

David acknowledged Malcolm and departed the building. It would be Meryl who led Malcolm into his bedroom, as she always does, a handhold and an arm around his shoulder.

This time, Malcolm dressed as Meryl passed him the first clothes she could find, a Punisher T-shirt with a regular denim black trouser. She took his towel to his hamper basket in the bathroom while Malcolm dawned a dark-red hoodie. Malcolm was outside his room when he met her again, her face of melancholy remained. She hugged him again; longer this time now that they were alone.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

Malcolm didn’t know. “...I’m just…trying to be realistic.”

“You’re what?”

“They’re old, they were already getting old when they had me.” They started for the door.

“It’s too early for them to die, Mal. They’re your parents and I just met them!”

“Meryl, you told me that they’re both critical.” Malcolm reiterated. “They’re old, honey.”

They were moving to the hallway elevator as she stopped him. “Is this about what I think it is?”

“Meryl, please.”

“I thought we were passed all of this when you introduced me to them.”

Malcolm recoiled from her. “We? You thought we were passed it?”

Meryl sucked her lips which accompanied a sharp raise of the eyebrows. “Well, when you bring us to dinner with them, I tend to think things are okay between you two.”

“I love you. Unlike them, you’re always there for me.”

“Mal, I want them to be there for our baby.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Why? The kid will have two parents. Give him that, a sibling and he’ll be fine.”

“And what about his family?”

“We’re his family.” Malcolm took her hand as they entered the elevator. “You and me.”

She withdrew her hand and rested her face into it. “I want your parents to be mine as well.”

She hit the ground floor button, Malcolm cupped both hands in front of him and bit his tongue. Once the elevator descended, Malcolm could help himself no longer. “You just met them...You don’t know…”

Despite the agitation, she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his head into her shoulder. “Mal…If they never wanted you, you’d have been given up for adoption.”

Malcolm trembled. “You don’t know what Mom said to me after I told her about you.”

“…She still kept you as her emergency contact.” She said, attempting to reassure.

Malcolm looked into her eyes. “She said to my face, and to her only child, ‘I never got to fuck your dad because of you being born.”

It seemed the air quietly left the room as Meryl eyes sank. “…Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Malcolm choked, “...Because it made me want to kill her...”

The elevator dinged and opened on the ground floor. Meryl faced Malcolm and turned him to face her. With no one watching, she pulled him in and kissed his forehead.

David was ironically blasting Bohemian Rhapsody in his egotistically rented sports car. He stopped drumming on the wheel to wave his hands in frustration at the time it took Malcolm and Meryl to arrive. They both opted to sit in the back seat. David was smart enough to take the hint and he proceeded to pull out of the parking lot. Malcolm and Meryl quietly sat with one arm around the other’s shoulders. In time, Malcolm’s eyes returned to the ever-growing baby bump of seven months that had come to make him love her more. As his free hand caressed her, Malcolm pondered the growing irony of the situation.

The three of them emerged in the hospital lobby and Malcolm broke his handhold with Meryl to proceed to the reception desk. A typical old nurse made eye contact with him. “My name is Malcolm Nelson, I’m Nancy and Patrick Nelson’s son.”

She typed away on her keyboard. “Right. The doctor will be out with you shortly, Mr. Nelson. Please have a seat.”

“When is shortly? You should be able to tell me if they’re okay.” Malcolm demanded. Meryl put a hand on his shoulder to relax him. Together, both them and David moved to sit down in the lobby. David casually grabbed a sports magazine from the table pile while Malcolm sat upright with Meryl holding his lapped hand.

He who tolls the bell for death is now saved by the bell. You were gonna bring a gun with you? What, are you gonna blow the squad car up?

…I’m not getting my brain picked the rest of my life…

Well, you are your brain, and I live up here, so I’d appreciate you not putting a goddamn bullet through me. Besides, donating yourself to science might be the one good thing you did for the world.

“Hey, Mal? You okay, honey?” Meryl chimed in.

“Huh?” Malcolm asked.

David half-stared at Malcolm with one eye on the magazine. “This is Houston, you’re mouthing to yourself like a demented patient Space Dog. Return to Earth, over.”

Meryl punched his shoulder before turning her attention back to Malcolm. “A hospital is really not the place for that sweetheart.” She continued.

“I’m ugh…I’m practicing what I’ll say.”

Meryl soothed. “You can’t control how they’ll react Mal.”

“But how am I supposed deal with it?”

She cupped his face. “Just do what feels natural; you’re entitled to it.”

A voice stopped Malcolm’s answer. “Mr. Nelson?”

The trio turned to see what looked like a fresh doctor, fresh in experience and a long time off the boat; his voice was long blended with the regional Cajun flavor.

“Yes?” Malcolm stood, followed by Meryl and David.

The man approached and offered a shake of the hand to which Malcolm courteously obliged. He read the nametag which said, “Alaqii”. “You can call me Harry.” The man stated solemnly as he offered shakes to both Meryl and David. “Can we speak over here?” He gestured to a space beside the double doors to the emergency ward.

They followed and the Doctor turned with cupped hands in front of him. “Um. Things got worse since Meryl left to find you…”

“Just tell me how they wrecked.” Malcolm demanded.

“It wasn’t their fault. They were returning home from a date night when a drunk driver collided with them while flooring past an intersection-“

Malcolm gaffed. “My parents on a ‘date night’…Where’s the drunk driver?”

“Died on impact.” The Doctor noticed the cruelty but continued morosely. “Mr. Nelson, your father broke through his airbag and smashed into the wheel. The force of the impact cracked his ribcage into his organs. Both the lungs and the heart were punctured; we had to perform an emergency operation when the ambulance came in…I was able to pull the fractures out, but the heart would’ve needed a transplant…something a younger patient might have survived long enough for…”

Meryl choked behind them; she held Malcolm’s shoulder while David grasped hers.

“…I’m sorry…” The doctor kept his eyes to the floor.

“What about Mom?”

“…she took the brunt of the trauma to her right side. She suffered from a concussion, a shattered pelvis and ribcage. We’ve stopped the internal bleeding, but we had to resuscitate her twice. We’ll have to wait and see if her condition stabilizes…until then, there’s nothing more we can do.”

“So where is she?”

“I can take you to her. She’s just down this hallway.”

Malcolm gripped Meryl’s hand and they looked at each other. David, who scratched his head, told them, “I’ll just let the two of you have your moment.” He then sat back down with the same magazine.

The Doctor led Malcolm and Meryl through the adjacent double doors and down the hallway. He then led them down the first left turn until the three of them were upon Mom’s room.

“She hasn’t been responsive since the paramedics arrived on the scene.” The Doctor opened the door. “It would probably be best if you-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Malcolm quipped. “I kind of figured that was why you wanted me to show up…”

“Mal…” Meryl gripped his bicep. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I’ll leave you both to it.” The Doctor parted ways from them and left.

Malcolm didn’t understand how strongly he was gripping Meryl’s hand; he only stood solemnly at the ajar door. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and pretend his parents had already died, as he had done in the past. Meryl let loose her grip and wrapped the same arm around his shoulder.

“You have to do this, Mal.” She sensed his fear. “You need to say goodbye; even if she can’t hear you.”

“…I…can’t-” Malcolm winced away the tears.

“Hey…” She soothed him. “What’s the worst thing you could say?”

Malcolm smiled. “Things are better if I stay?”

“Not this time mister.” She poked him. “Let’s go.”

Malcolm cupped both her hands. “What I’m about to say is pretty vicious. Maybe…you shouldn’t see me like that.”

“I want to be there for you Mal...”

Malcolm’s voice became more hushed. “I had to put up with her by myself for seventeen years, honey. I don’t see how I’m a man if I can’t face her like that again.”

She understood but seemed morose. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I can bring you in after I get it all my chest.”

She kissed him softly and brought his hand to her baby bump. “Don’t ever tell me you aren’t a man.” After smiling she parted hands and gently motioned him into the room. She then took her seat outside the door.

The hospital bed was a mess of life support tubes with an IV bag to the left and the beeping machine which read Mom’s vitals. She lay there a ghastly pale with her internal system fighting life. Malcolm closed the door as he faced her and took the steps to her side as if a time spell had been cast. Malcolm’s own movement was gradual as if there had been pins and needles in his legs. Malcolm, who feared most eye contact, yearned for one more chance to investigate Mom’s. Her long grey hair formed a miniature mat beneath her head and shoulders. The pillows kept her propped at a near vertical angle to support her oxygen supply; one machine served that very purpose. The mask, however, completely shielded her face. She was a sci-fi monstrosity, as the tiny version of Malcolm came to believe.

Malcolm pulled out a seat adjacent to the bed and closed the curtain around them. He wanted to cup her hand for once; he was too sure she’d wake from her coma; just so she could nag him over it.

“…Hey Mom…” He began, but immediately lost his train of thought. “…So, I heard Dad is already gone. Hmmm. I guess...you would be nagging me for missing that one. I was out hunting with one of the boys, bet you would be shocked to hear that I was doing it with a friend...You’d also lecture me about the hell you put Dad through for my sake...

...After a year of stalling I finally brought Meryl, after she begged, and the two of you sat there shocked that she even existed! I left the house convinced I’d never talk to you again. So now that I am…Fuck I don’t even know where I’m going with this! You always wanted me to become the next Johny Carson…When the fuck was I ever funny!? Never! A fact you reminded me of plenty.”

Malcolm let out a laugh; he stood from the chair and leaned into Mom.

“…Meryl says that I needed to ‘face’ you again. And here I am, doing what comes naturally. Through all my soul searching in life, I never needed you or Dad. It was Meryl who tamed me; but us? We should’ve been like the sharks that we are…you gave birth to me and that’s the end of our arrangement. I was always convinced that I’d be better off as an orphan…and today I get my wish. I just regret that I didn’t get a chance to do this sooner. But in case you’re listening…All I wanted was for you to love me, Mom. And now? I’m finished.”

Malcolm clamped the oxygen tube; his prints were where he knew the doctors would grab it. He pressed the tube and as he cut off mother’s oxygen, he held a sharp breath. He began the countdown that would cease upon the flatline of the life support unit. Malcolm watched her face, wanting her to wake and start thrashing for what was left of her life. Instead, she lay there peacefully. It took every ounce of self-restraint for Malcolm to not crush her windpipe; he knew that he couldn’t afford an autopsy. The heart monitor was accelerating as the nerves began to twitch, and Malcolm kept his look over her eyes; they never opened.

…One Seventy…One Seventy-one…One Seventy-two…

The Heart Monitor flatlined. Malcolm, paranoid the machine will revive her, wanted to keep his grip.

You’re on the clock now, Jackoff! You need them to announce the time of death. Like, right now!

Malcolm then let go of the mask tube. The heart monitor did not pick up again and Malcolm began to shake Mom’s shoulders vehemently.

“Mom? GODDAMMIT, MOM!”

He pulled the curtain to see Meryl had already opened the door. She kept a hand on her gasped breath and did her best to hold the tears back. “Mal…”

“Get the doctors!” Malcolm shouted. He turned back to his dead mother and did his best to keep his act together by not smiling.