This was a real cracker! No, honestly, it was fabulous. Those of you who were able to read the wonderous piece, called "Tumour," when I first posted it, can count yourselves fortunate and blessed.
Honestly
Those of us, now, can only sit and weep, since we'll never again be able to read the story.
Why? you ask?
I will tell you why, it's because I managed to delete every last copy of the thing by accident
I can tell you, I was not a happy bunny when I found out that a single command could rush around and clean up so very well.
I can't find it in me to re-write the story but I will tell you what it was about.
Sitting to one side of the room is a woman, his wife. She is staring at the man's unconscious form. There, behind her eyes, is not the worried spark of love for her man. The caring gaze of his wife, waiting patiently for her beloved to stir from his minor operation. Behind her eyes is the blackness of one who looks upon a monster with depthless loathing and hatred.
Her mind is filled with the thoughts that drove her to this point. Her husband, in hospital because of a burst appendix was also a sex fiend. A horrible and depreaved beast. He had a pile of magazines in his closet and had several VHS tapes of naked couples having sex.
He was obviously a sub-human animal. He is a cancer, needs to be excised, the doctor and the lovely nurses would understand...
She proceeds to introduce a poisonous concoction to the drip-feed in his arm. He is, after all, something which has to be cut out of humanity. She feels ashamed of him in the face of the glowingly-wonderful medical staff whose nobility and care are so far above her, wallowing as she is, in the mire of his corruption.
As the life slips out of his evil body, she slips as quietly as she can out of the ward.
On the way out however, she hears sounds coming from a closed door. Sounds her memory recognises from the video soundtracks found in her husband's wardrobe.
With great trepidation, she opens the door and if confronted with the angels of the medical staff engaged in real-life debauchery.
She wonders if, somehow, she may have made an error of judgement.
It was better when I first wrote it, I promise
F.S October 2002