Mannequins

Fear, I thought, is a strong emotion - but it is nothing more than an emotion arising from unease and uncertainty. I stared at my watch as seconds passed. Three, two, one - I counted down as the time approached 1.48 am. I entered my walk-in freezer and thought about situations that send shudders down my spine. Since young, I would stare at shaking ceiling fans, anticipating the rotary momentum of the fixture to send the blades spinning. I imagine hearing the constant whirring of the blades as they shred all that stood in its path, leaving behind a morbid trail of death in its wake. Blood, body parts and debris would litter the scene amidst the piercing shrieks of agony and terror from the casualties and those around them. I shuddered at the thought, and stroked my taxidermied cat, seeking even an ounce of comfort.

I looked back at the numerous embalmed bodies in the freezer and immediately felt relief. Two, three… I counted each body in the freezer. Five… I admired each look that had been skillfully preserved on each face. Six, seven, eight… I relished at the thought of how I had acquired each body. I stopped at the model in front of the freezer. Ten. Each model was numbered one thru ten and arranged exactly according to its date of acquisition. I have to admit, this is a strangely morbid collection - one consisting of preserved human bodies. Each body had to be arranged in order or I feared that I would not get a wink of sleep. I walked back to the first body and gently ran my hands through its silky locks of hair. This body is my most prized possession. Before me stood the gentle and loving lady, my mother, who had acted as my shield and protected me from all my fears. I wrapped my arms around her. I simply stood there in silence, feeling the solace of her warm embrace.

As a child, I remember walking down the aisles in a fashion boutique and seeing models with clothes on. These models, tall, white and slender, leered at me with their featureless faces. Out of the corner of my eye, I would have sworn I saw a couple with outstretched hands. They wanted to grab me, to remove me from my only source of comfort. However, no matter how quickly I tried to look back to catch them in the act, they would just stand there as if they had never moved an inch. Wandering down the aisles I would hear them murmur something. The words were indiscernible but they made me feel uneasy. In an attempt to shy away from my fears, I would crouch and block out everything around me. But it only made their voices grow louder. I felt surrounded by clothed white figures looming over me, mocking my tiny existence amidst the faceless figures. Then, out of nowhere, I would feel a warm embrace. I lifted my head and found myself back in the fashion boutique, gone are the menacing entities that tried to take me away. The only figures left would be dressed in clothes and placed in front of different aisles. Looking down, I saw the gentle hands that had brought me back from the abyss. "Mum," I cried as I turned back to hug her.

As I came back to the harshness of reality, I realised that she no longer had her arms around me. In fact, she could not have held me in her arms, at least not anymore. I took a step back and gently ran my fingers along the surgical scars. For years on end, she would constantly go back and forth from the hospital to surgically remove recurrent tumours that came back every so often. People said lightning does not strike the same place twice and it is unlikely she could have tumours in the same area. But clearly, the beings from the sky had different plans in store for us. The tumours grew in the exact location multiple times, each threatening to take her life. But each time the medical team managed to safely remove the tumour, restoring our normal life. Until the fateful day when she had enough. The disease had cruelly snatched her from me and claimed her life after it was done messing with her.

I recalled the tumultuous days of repeated hospital visits. The doctors had finally cleared her of her cancer and congratulated her for having survived the harrowing encounter with the death itself. After what seemed like a couple of months, her condition took a turn for the worse. I recalled seeing her with IV drips each administering different fluids for pain relief and sustaining life. I remembered the weathered look on her face as she lay in that hospital bed as I watched at her bedside. She was selfless, always putting others before herself. In a wispy voice, she always told me that I could let her go if she was becoming a financial burden. And with a knot in my throat, I would always utter the same words, "Don't worry, I earn more than enough, I just hope to see you well again." No matter how hard I tried, I could never forget the moments when it took everything she had to mutter a few words to me. One day, everything changed. I entered the hospital room and closed the door behind me. I sat next to my mother and she held my hand. But this time it felt different. In the same wispy voice, she muttered the three words which changed my life forever, "Let me go." I looked at her and my heart shattered. She seemed to lack even the ounce of strength needed to move a finger. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken and she looked like she could slip away at any moment.

I braced myself and clutched a pillow, looking back at the dying woman for one last time. Then I shut my eyes and pressed the pillow against her face. I strained to listen to any muffled groans but all she could do was lay in bed silently as I put her out of her misery. Tears streamed down my face as I let out a whimper, "I'm sorry, Mum. I'm sorry." After I had processed the death of my mother, I glanced at the clock noting the time. It was 2 April, 1.48 am. With that, I wiped off the tears and proceeded to arrange to bring her body home. Her mere presence gave me a sense of solace so I wanted to keep her body where I could see it.

.

I would visit her every day of the year at 1.48 am, with the exception of 2 April. As I visit her, I have come to realise the beauty made possible through embalming. Despite her emaciated appearance, she had a peaceful smile on her face. She had found her final resting place among my collection. I hugged her and felt my anxiety and stress instantly vanish. I turned my attention to the others. Morbid as they are, they each display a unique expression. A couple had the same peaceful look as my mother, others had fear etched into their faces, each expression eternalised through the process of embalming. As I left the freezer, I stared up at the clock and saw that it was 2 am. As of today, it is 1 April. I walked into my hidden armoury to check my equipment, polishing my pistol and checking the condition of my suppressor. As I sharpened my hunting knife, I relished the thought of seeing the expression on my new victim's face. Oh, how I yearned to see the unique expression I would preserve on the eleventh body.