A Dark And Condescending Smile

• Candice Morrison, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

All eyes are on me. I don’t want them to be. I’d give everything for them to just stop starring. I want to run and hide. I want to disappear; I wish they’d stop asking if I’m okay, but while I’m wishing things, maybe I should wish that mum never committed suicide.
I still can’t believe that she did it, the police found her in one of the university buildings, she’d hung herself. At first they thought it was murder but apparently the guy who’d done the autopsy was new and didn’t really know what he was doing so, mum’s old friend, Richard double checked it and ruled it a suicide. I head out the door for a jog to clear my head. I jog for as long as my legs will allow, but my head doesn’t clear at all. I stop and bend over, hold my sides as I struggle to breath, when I look up I see that I’ve found myself in front of the university. I run as fast as I can to the morgue and as I pass through the doors I smack into Richard. “Hey! Slow Down, Grace?” I look up and see him smiling at me again. He’s always smiling; I’ve never seen him without a smile. He rests his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the morgue. My head is hit with something really hard and then, nothing.
I awake lying on one of the steel benches in the morgue. The solid metal stings my skin with its coldness. I slowly rise and see Richard walking in with a table on wheels, a sheet and rope. “You’re not supposed to wake up.” He smiles, but unlike other times, it’s cold, colder than the bench I’m lying on. The once sincere smile has transformed into a dark and condescending smile that frightens me.
“What do you want?” I ask, he just laughs.
“I wanted your mother but she rejected me too many times. She was a tease, you’re a tease just like your mother; I won’t let you get away with it.” I stare, mouth agape, as I try and piece together everything that has happened over the past few days. He moves towards me, pulling a knife from his pocket, but I jump off the table and bolt for the back door, I have 20 years on this guy, surely I can out run him. I bolt for the parking lot but just as I reach the courtyard, I’m tackled to the ground and my face is grated like cheese from the asphalt. I try to roll onto my back so I can face him, but the weight’s too much and I feel like my insides will explode due to the pressure on my abdomen. I won’t be his next victim; I won’t let her die in vain. I have to survive.
I try and fight him off but he’s too strong. I squirm underneath him as my skin is scratched raw from the asphalt. I knee him in the groin and he rolls off in pain. I bolt for the parking lot again. Just as I reach for the handle to my car I turn to check that he hasn’t gotten up and caught up. And there he is, standing right in front me, knife in hand and before I can react it goes in, I look down to see the blade piercing my flesh. I shift my eyes to his, as my vision blurs, all I see is his smile, his dark and condescending smile.