Flux

decide what to do with the parts.
    Moving the dismembered remains turned out to be more difficult than he’d anticipated and although Gary was not an overly large man, he was a struggle to move. With a hand under each armpit, Iain ever so slowly managed to drag the body towards the bathroom, an inch at a time. With frequent rest stops he finally reached the bath and after a few deep breaths, managed in one final effort to heave Gary over the rim and dump him unceremoniously into the white enamel tub. Sweating and out of breath, Iain thought he could do with a shower. He looked in the bath, where the shower was attached to the taps, and changed his mind.
    Didn’t think that through very well did you?
    Well I’d better get busy with the chopping then hadn’t I?
    Got to clean up first.
    Now working on auto-pilot, Iain went to fetch a bin liner from the kitchen before filling it with the pile of giblets from the living room floor. There must have been a hole in the bottom for as he put the bag down in the kitchen next to the bin, a substance not too dissimilar to gravy dribbled out onto the linoleum. He spent some time rummaging under the sink for the cleaning things he knew he still had and then, filling a bowl with soapy water, set about trying to clean gore from the carpet.
    It was no easy task; it seemed the harder he scrubbed and the more water he used, the stain only got bigger until eventually, with about two thirds of the floor space covered, he gave up. “That’ll do,” he said out loud; unsatisfied with the results but unwilling to do any more.
    Now it was time for the hard work to start. Emotionally dead, Iain collected an assortment of knives, including a large carving knife and cleaver from the kitchen drawer and headed back into the bathroom. Without pausing to think, he started on the task at hand by trying to cut off one of the hands at the wrist. First he took the carving knife, which could have done with being sharper, and sliced into the flesh. The blade quickly met the grating resistance of bone and stopped cutting. Iain, finding his tools to be inadequate, had to resort to prodding about with the point of the knife until finding a gap between the joints. Forcing the tip into the soft spot, he gave a hard twist on the handle to wrench the bones apart. After half an hour of intensive labour, he held Gary’s hand in his.
    “I’m going to need a saw,” he said out loud to himself. A saw was something he didn’t own. The realisation dawned upon him that he was going to have to leave the house and venture to the shops. He took a quick glance at the mirror; amongst the tortured souls and burning fires he saw his own face staring back. Wild-looking; blood streaked across his face and hair matted with the same blood. He looked back to the bath tub, and the remains of his friend. A bath or shower was still out of the question. Out of frustration, he took the knife and drove it deep into the corpse’s chest where it jutted out proudly, the handle vibrating from the impact.
    The act of violence released something within Iain; a flood of emotion and memories washed over him. He thought about all the good times they’d had together: girls they’d fancied, laughing in the pub, the times when Iain had got too drunk to stand and Gary carried him home. Gary was always the sensible one and now he was gone.
    There came a knock on the front door. Iain froze; ears pricked back and heart rapidly thudding in his chest.
    “Helloo. Is there anybody home?” It was Dave, shouting from outside the door.
    Iain didn’t dare move a muscle for fear of giving himself away. Opening the door wasn’t an option. Dave knocked again, and again for what seemed like hours until finally giving up and the knocking ceased. Iain realised he’d been holding his breath and it escaped his in a loud whoosh. What if he comes back? I’m screwed. There was no way Iain could leave the house now. If Dave came back, or anybody else for that matter, and decided through worry or any other reason to break the door down and have a look, he’d be in a whole world of strife.
    I could run.
    Where to?
    Anywhere away from this mess.
    There is nowhere to go. How will you live? Off the land?
    Iain slumped to the floor, propping his back against the side of the bath so he didn’t have to look at the body. Exhausted and fit for nothing, unable even to organise or keep control of his own thoughts, he decided rest and finish the job in the