Mother May I…

Mother May I…
Written by: Frank Cormier

His frail shivering body was tucked into a crevice along one of the side walls.  This was where his Mother instructed him to take shelter while she was away.  She had told him to stay hidden and that he was not to show his face above the edge of the wall when she was gone.  He had asked why, she just said, “because.”  They had been living in this spot for only a couple of weeks, and it looked no different than the last place to him (though his Mother thought it might be safer), he still didn’t fully understand why they had to move.  He wondered if his old friends would miss him?  The shivering continued, not that he was cold, he was hungry and afraid.  Usually he had eaten by now, something must be wrong he thought.  Maybe she got lost?

In defiance of his Mother’s orders, he poked his head just above the brim of the stick, dried mud, and grass shelter they called home in an effort to hopefully catch a peak of her returning.  A dark shadow passed overhead and momentarily blocked the glowing orb high above.  He didn’t know what this orb was called, just that it kept things bright and warm whenever it was in the sky.  Every so often it would just disappear and everything got dark and cool.  He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but was happy to have his Mother nearby because she always knew how to make it come back.  The shadow passed overhead again.  He couldn’t see that far so wasn’t sure what caused it.  An eerie sensation passed through his delicate body and he shook for a moment.  His Mother would know what had happened, if only she were here to ask.  It was getting dark.

While peering over the crude edge of his tottering habitat, the prevailing thought going through his mind was that it was a long way down.  How did he end up here in the first place?  Their other place was quasi-solid and lower to the earth.  What if the wind picked up?  He could be blown to the ground and not able to stop his descent.  What if a predator came along and snatched him?  He was too small to know how to defend himself.  And where were his brothers and sisters?  Did he even have brothers or sisters or was his mind playing tricks on him?  He vaguely recalled others being around him not that long ago but was unsure.  If only his Father hadn’t abandoned them, he felt that they would’ve been better off.  Why is life such a test?

The space was cramped and he started to pace as best he could in the tight quarters and looked nervously to the sky every other step.  The smell of wild flowers was floating around him as if to suggest that all was okay, but he knew better.  Springtime in New England can be a tricky time of year weather-wise as well.  First you could enjoy the aroma of the natural surroundings except that there were allergens in the air too.  He knew he wasn’t allergic to anything, at least so far at this point in his life.  The bigger concern was rain, or worse, a late spring snowstorm.  There was no good place to take shelter when either of these weather events happened.  And it was very difficult to stay warm.  He was so tiny and fragile.  His Mother always cuddled with him to keep him dry and provide warmth.  She had been gone for what seemed hours and he was now frightened.  Where was she?

Most of the leaves had not fully unfurled so the typical canopy that should shield them had yet to form.  Even though his small frame was ensconced by a wispy layer of pinnae that covered his flesh, he felt naked without the protection of the leaves.  His Mother told him that soon enough both the vegetation and his plumed tegument would fill in to obscure the unseemly sightlines that Nature had teased each with.  How proud and handsome he would look to his Mother once that occurred he couldn’t help thinking to himself.  She once told him that he looked like his Father and this upset him.  He wanted to look more like her.  She was his hero and relished the day that he could take care of her.  The shadow now circled overhead at a regular interval.  Was that her voice?

The sounds of Nature are distinct; however, when heard in a cacophony, reality became dissonance. The wind had picked up, clouds moved in and a slight rain was peppering the surrounding terrain.  Both added to the boisterous collection of noises that were created by buzzing insects, squawking birds of all ilk, rustling branches, thunder in the distance, and artificial mechanical sounds that had no place in nature.  Confused by all of the sounds, he once more peered over the edge of the nest.  Though it wasn’t fully dark, it certainly wasn’t as bright as it was before.  No longer could he see the shadow that loomed overhead just moments ago, thus he wasn’t able to perceive the impending danger.  Maybe I should call out to her?

Filling his miniature lungs with as much air as he could swallow, he let out the faintest of chirps barely audible over the sound of the swollen rain drops pelting the soft earth below.  However, it was heard by the shadow from above and it moved with solemnity and precision.  He breathed in deeply again and let out another heartfelt plea beckoning his Mother’s return.  For a moment all sounds ceased and he had trouble hearing himself breathe.  How odd he thought to himself.  His Mother never shared this experience with him?  In an instance he was airborne and unable to breathe.  How could I be in the air his mind screamed to himself?  I don’t even know how to fly!  Why can’t I breathe?  Where is the bright orb in the sky?  All was going dark.  “Mother, please make it bright again,” he pleaded.  “Please make it bright again.”

The End

Copyright (C) by Frank Cormier 2016.  All rights reserved.


Written by: Frank Cormier

I used to wonder how my day was going to turn out when first waking. Sometimes I imagined that the day held some type of epic journey and I would end up thousands of miles from where I began. It was always a better place than the original starting point, places like: Honolulu, Tokyo, Bangkok, Munich, Paris, Prague, Montreal, New York, Los Angeles, all hold some type of adventure waiting to be explored.

I haven’t dreamt of any of these places in quite some time. Life works that way, high on it one day, down on it the next. I’ve always been envious of the people that have their shit together, especially the ones that can do it day in and day out. I was one of those people in some distant life. Now I do my best to make it through a day, hell a week or month, avoiding those same likeminded persons.

“What’s the point in complaining?” I think these days. In a lot of ways it has become my new mantra. Let me explain: I live in Lower City, Connecticut at present in a small flat off of Route Sixty-Three; which is the main road in and out of this turn of the millennia town, and not this last one either. When one looks up information regarding the various types of “activities” that are here on Google, you will get a blank page in return. This is perfectly acceptable to me.

According to a census taken a few years before I began my sojourn, the population stood at one thousand and eighty-one; it’s now temporarily one thousand and eighty-two. And the median age is forty-two, which I fall close to that age as well. It’s a perfect place for me and one I could call home until recently. I am going to have move from here sooner than I anticipated. Unfortunately, I won’t be heading to any of the places I listed above.

As I mentioned, I am not one to complain, instead I take action. My latest action is the reason I need to move on. I should share some information about my past before explaining my present circumstance. Just how far back a person should go to get to the “root” of one’s problem has always been a mystery to me, and still is now. Everyone has tedious details about his or her life that have contributed to the person they are today. And the really catastrophic events are usually the ones we try to forget, especially if they were bad ones. I guess that’s why there are so many antidepressants available.

Too bad doctors haven’t yet come up with a “catastrophic memory erase pill.” I imagine it to work like this: You could tell the doctor what the specific event was, and he or she would consult this fancy computer looking device in their office, turn a few dials, enter in some typed written data (birth date, weight, sex, the event, etc), some lights would flash, then a whirring sound, and out would pop a magic bullet that was designed especially for you. You would be instructed to take the pill with food, a side effect being nausea if taken on an empty stomach, and an eight-ounce glass of water. No alcohol! This would only enhance the memory and reinforce it in your brain. Approximately thirty minutes later you would have a hot flash and presto!, the catastrophic event is gone! It would be as if the event never occurred. And no matter how many photos you saw or stories told to you by others, nothing.

So much for my idea… I am still left with the mystery of where I should start with my life changing event. Going back to when I was three or four years old is useless. I can barely remember what I ate for lunch yesterday let alone some event that happened forty some odd years ago that shaped part of who I am today. Even going back to my teen years is not useful either. I was just like any other teen, difficulty with puberty, acne, girl crazy, (all due to an imbalance in my testosterone levels), and smoking a little weed. At least the weed helped take the edge off of certain social situations that were forced upon me at the time, high school dances, proms and such.

After high school is probably the best place for me to start. I didn’t go to college right out of school, hell, I still haven’t gone! I went straight into the military. Where I grew up you either went to college or you learned a trade and worked for the rest of your life. At least being in the Army I would get to travel, or so I thought. I got stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, 24th Infantry Division, for three and a half years in the middle of nowhere. I guess in some ways it served as a precursor to where I am in my life today.

My military career was uneventful, outside of standing watch around some missile silos on the remotest part of the base near Clay Center. Otherwise I passed my time drinking beer at the enlisted bar and waiting around for tornados. The base was always lively when we got the tornado warnings. We actually felt like we had a purpose. The whole rush of adrenalin we got from ushering base folk to the different shelters quickly wore off when you realized that you were stuck in a room with nothing to do with all of these other bored people.

I still remember when my platoon officer Captain Harold Lewis III, approached me about reenlisting; I had such a perplexed look on my face. He was going over all of the reasons (which I believe them to be mostly his personal ones), of why I should stay in the Army. He said that I got free room and board, three square meals a day, free haircuts, and all of the pussy I wanted because I wore a uniform. His name suggests that he may become a flag officer one day. The military is fond of history, even if it is in the form of parents being so unoriginal in naming a child. I have no such luck. He was and still is a career man and is still single. Hoorah!

The military wasn’t for me. I knew it at the time but went in anyway because I couldn’t fathom growing up and dying in one place. Still don’t believe in it, which is why I move around. Well this is part of the reason I move around, the other reason I have yet to explain.

After the Army, I drifted around from town to town. I never quite got past my fear of traveling to any of the places I listed previously. I guess I have a fear of flying, but I’m guessing. I have only been on four airplanes so far in my life. The first one was to Fort Benning, GA for basic training, the second was when I got transferred to Kansas, the third was back to my home town of Cecil, PA after my enlistment, and the last one I took was to Hartford. I’ve moved from town to town in the greater Harford, CT – Springfield, MA area for the last twenty some odd years. Never felt a reason to fly again.

I don’t even know why I picked this area. Maybe because it reminds me somewhat of home without all of the people I know or who knew me. I must have thought that this was a place I could renew who I am; you know, re-invent myself in a familiar environment. I don’t truly recall my reasons, but if that was it, I failed miserably. I still have the same fears of success and failure, flying, making friends, and too many others to list. Then again, I do believe that I am getting better about making friends. I was dating a woman from Canaan, CT, which is the next town over from here. She was only the third women I had ever dated. I have never been married.

I met her about six months ago and we got along right away. We rushed headlong into a relationship and moved in together after two months. It could not have been better for me. I had this person in my life that enjoyed my company and liked to do things for me like have sex, cook meals, sex, laundry, sex, and smoke weed. I believed that I had met my perfect partner. As the saying goes, “the honeymoon was over” after six months. I wish it were something we could have worked on and tried to keep it going. The problem was that she died. There are ups and downs in everyone’s life.

It’s not as if she killed herself or something. She was a very happy person about most areas of her life. Not much seemed to get her down. I found this to be a very attractive quality. Any time I felt down, she was right there to pick me up. It was great while it lasted but her death is part of the reason I need to move.

You see, she died in a most unusual way… we were having sex when she died. She liked to be tied up and also liked a host of other kinky positions as well, real adventurous. However, it was none of these acts that led to her death. You see (this is so hard for me to talk about), she died after we had plain old missionary position sex. I don’t know if it was from the boredom associated with the method or her not being used to that position. I never had the chance to ask her. If one can tell what one is thinking by the look on one’s face, then my guess is she died bemused.

The coroner’s report states that she died from myocardial infarction, a.k.a.: a heart attack. I don’t believe the report. I believe she thought that we reached a point in the relationship that we were going to start being “routine” and this was too much for her to handle. I should never have suggested missionary position to her. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, but it doesn’t matter now. No amount of analyzing this event in my head will bring her back. I wish some doctor would hurry up and invent that pill.

As I had mentioned, there are roughly a thousand or so folks living in this town, and it felt like each one stared at me any time they saw me in public. It seemed that they all had read the Hartford Register newspaper story about her death and some of the sordid details the reporters like to add to make a mundane event appear like the event of the century. How many times does one get to be known as a “sex killer” in their life? I was being branded as a killer yet it couldn’t be further from the truth. No charges were pressed; heck no criminal investigation ever took place either.

Most of the details about our licentious sex life I told to the detective when he looked around our apartment for the slightest trace of foul play. I had to tell him something because he saw our “box of tricks” and asked to see inside. He hardly raised an eyebrow when he saw the amount of toys and costumes that we had in the ocean steamer trunk. Instead he quickly scanned the rest of the apartment from where he was standing, jotted a few notes, shook my hand and said that he was sorry about my loss. About two days later, the story in the newspaper appeared, details and all, and my life hasn’t been the same since. The reaction of the town folk was most strange… I became a celebrity of sorts.

The strangest reactions I received were from most of the women around my age, married or otherwise; they would approach me and ask if I would have sex with them. They said that was the way they wanted to go out. They said that their husbands were not up for the job and wanted a real man to take them to the other side of existence. A few of them even called me a hero! The men viewed me as something abnormal. One man in particular asked me why I wasn’t married at my age and had kids. He said that if I were, then I would be able to understand women better. I never said I was trying to understand them!

I guess I should share one other detail from my past since I have already divulged so much thus far. This is the sixth time that a woman has died while having sex with me, which was also in the story. Apparently I have a penchant for picking women with bad hearts and a low tolerance for plain sex. The first three women died the same way as the last one. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m a possessed Midas. This is the reason, just as in the past, that I have to move again. I’m now part of the pop culture here and do not welcome the notoriety that comes with all that has happened. Maybe now is the time that I face my fear of flying and move to Tibet, where there are no heroes, at least none that I know of…

The End

Copyright (C) by Frank Cormier 2016.  All rights reserved.



Written by: Frank Cormier


I had read in the paper recently about an unexplained death that occurred while the victim was allegedly surfing the Internet, or so the news article led the reader to believe.  The victim was a thirty-eight year old male, (the fourth male in his thirties, I might add, to be found dead at his computer in the past two months), a successful business man (he owned a gun and ammo store and was connected with two exotic dance clubs in the area), and was found face down in a pile of paper work on his desk, “… a typical messy desk with papers strewn about, a monitor and keyboard and mouse, and a set of stereo computer speakers.”  The news article went on to say that there were no apparent external wounds and that there were no signs of a struggle and suicide was ruled out immediately.  The alleged Internet surfing was offered because his email account was opened and some type of “community” Web page was also open on the browser at the time of the investigation.


A few days later in a follow up story, the reporter said the police were not labeling the death as “suspicious” so have closed their investigation for now.  The reason for the “for now” was according to the autopsy report, the death was labeled “inconclusive” because no poisons, alcohol, or illicit drugs were found in the blood stream (all though the police still hadn’t ruled out some type of payback because this latest victim had been busted for cocaine and morphine peddling in the past), however, there are several types of poison that leave no trace in the bloodstream or in tissue.  The article only went on to say that the victim “died of an apparent heart attack” even though the tell-tale signs like scarring of the myocardial tissue or clogged arteries were not evident.  The examining doctor concluded it appeared to him that for all practical purposes, “the victim’s heart just stopped.”


It seemed that no one was making any connection out of the deaths except me.  I reread the articles and researched the stories again on the Internet looking for more details surrounding each death.  Here is what I found:


The first death was a thirty six year old male who had been convicted of pedophilia.  He was placed under house arrest after serving eight months in the county jail while awaiting a retrial.  The jail was overcrowded so the judge decided to allow the prisoner to wait for the new trial at home as long he as he agreed to wear an ankle bracelet.  He also had to check in with a parole officer twice a week to ensure that he has truly at home.  The man readily agreed to the terms.


While at home he was allowed the usual liberties that most people take for granted such as watching television, surfing the Internet, smoke in his own home, and sleep in a regular bed.  The only restrictions he had were that he could not wander more than one hundred yards from his property because the police were monitoring his whereabouts and that he had to register any guests who came to visit.  He was okay with the restrictions.  He didn’t feel much like leaving his home anyway because he felt safest there.  And the only one that would visit him was his mother.  He didn’t have any friends.  His mother would visit five times a week and bring him groceries, wash his clothes, tidy up the house, and read to him select passages from the bible.


He would tolerate the bible readings in order to placate her so that she would continue to buy him cigarettes.  She didn’t like that he smoked but accepted that about him as long as he would allow the Lord into his life.  Sometimes he would fall asleep when she read to him.  He felt at peace, not for religious reasons, more that he didn’t feel he had to watch his back all of the time.


He had been locked up with dope pushers, drunk driving offenders, a few gang bangers, and petty thieves when he served his time in the county jail.  Sleep didn’t come easy there; he was always paranoid that he would have to fight for his life.  For now he was going to enjoy the comfort of his own home.  He knew that if he were to be convicted in the new trial he was going away to a maximum security state prison where the cliental is a much tougher group; the type that would stick a shiv in you without blinking any eye, especially a convicted pedophile.


Prisoners are an unusual mix of people, most never believed that they were totally in the wrong and would rationalize their crime.  Some of the guys were fathers and have an extreme dislike for people that commit crimes against children.  The problem was that he didn’t believe a crime had been committed.  He could rationalize his reasons if they would just listen, but that was creating a problem in his mind before there was one.  He was not in prison and all he had to do was convince a judge and jury that he was innocent.  “Piece of cake,” he would tell himself.  “I’ll search the Internet for possible defenses, legal proceedings, and anything else I can find to keep me out of that place.”


Ten days after he was under house arrest, his mother found him dead in front of the computer.  The article stated that, “… the victim was found slumped over the key board to his computer from an apparent heart attack.”  Again the scene was similar in that the victim was sitting in front of his computer surfing the Internet, and the only items on the desk were the monitor, keyboard and mouse, and speakers.  Nothing was offered regarding the content of the Internet surfing other than it mentioned, “… it looked as if he were checking his emails when he died.”


The second victim was a thirty four year old man described as a “family man.”  Upon further research, this “John Doe” was accused of rape but not convicted.  His rape victim committed suicide once the trial was over because he was allowed to walk away.  Walk away is an accurate description for describing his actions that day.  When the jury came back with the not guilty verdict, he sauntered out of the courtroom and winked at the young woman who had accused him of rape.  She broke down in tears and could not be consoled no matter how many times the judge hammered the gavel requesting “order in the court.”


John had three children, two teenage sons and a ten year old daughter.  His children were window dressing.  He spent more time at the country club or a local watering hole than he did at home.  He had always felt like he had been trapped by his wife into marrying her because she got pregnant the first time they had sex.  He had four different girlfriends at the time and didn’t want to give up the lifestyle.  Then he noticed something changed when he started wearing a wedding ring.


He was a handsome man that always had an easy time picking up woman.  But the ring gave him an out that he never expected: no commitment.  Most women that he met wouldn’t sleep with him unless they got to know him.  They all seemed to want a steady relationship that would lead to marriage.  It was only after he started wearing a wedding band that he encountered more women who were looking for a one night stand = NSA, (No Strings Attached).  And the Internet was loaded with these types of women.  That was how he met “Jane Doe.”


Jane was thirty five, a very attractive blonde with an athletic figure.  She had a bit of a self esteem problem and didn’t date much.  Most guys didn’t ask her out because they thought she was too pretty and shied away.  And of the men she met in bars, most were loud mouth drunks and/or married.  Her best friend convinced her to try Internet dating.  “Go on!  Give it a shot,” Lisa said to encourage her.  “You’re too beautiful to be alone.  I know the right guy is out there for you.”


She signed up on Mate.Com as her first attempt at meeting someone on the Internet and went through the typical protocol of filling out an online survey, completing a questionnaire, writing a profile, and finally posting her picture.  Within the first twenty four hours of posting her profile, she had over one hundred “hits.”  That night she took the time to go through each one and send back a “not interested” response to over ninety of the men who contacted her.  Only seven of the men who emailed her caught her attention, so she sent back a reply inviting further communication.  John was one of the seven.


They hit it off right away and she went out on her first date with him.  Jane met him at a local coffee shop on a weeknight.  He was charming and she found him more attractive the more they talked.  John told to her that he was not married and didn’t have children.  He had stopped wearing his wedding band after his daughter was born so there was no pronounced ring mark on his finger.  As things progressed he made his move and asked her to go back to her place.  She felt everything was going so well that she was blinded by his charm and went against everything Lisa told her not to do on a first date.  She decided she was an adult and could make her own decisions and invited him back.


He followed her to her condominium.  Once inside they made with some small talk, she poured some wine, and he made his move.  She pushed him away saying it was too soon.  John wasn’t having any of that and tore her dress off and forced her into her bedroom.  This is what she testified to in court.  He told a different story, more convincing, that made her sound like a prostitute.  The jury bought it and he was found innocent.  His wife even came to his defense believing that this “other woman seduced her husband.”


Two months after the court proceedings and the newspapers locked on to a different subject, he was found dead sitting in front of his computer by his wife.  This article stated that, “… the victim was found sitting in his underwear in front of his computer and had died from a heart attack.”  The scene was similar yet again, John was doing something on his computer, surfing the Internet, checking emails, etc., and the only items on the desk were some family photos, the monitor, keyboard and mouse, and speakers.


The third victim was a thirty nine year old male lawyer who’s cliental included known drug lords.  In town he was known to the police as the “Freedom Man.”  It was written in several newspapers and online news sites that he knew more ways to confound a court system and created legal quagmires that will take decades for the court to sort through to make a determination.  In the mean time, his cliental were free to continue with their lives.


He felt it was his responsibility to ensure that every “i” be dotted and every “t” be crossed in the legal system.  “Without law and order – chaos reigns supreme” was framed over his office desk.  He didn’t make the laws; he was just there to make certain that the law was followed to the letter.  Even if that meant a less than scrupulous person was allowed to freely walk the streets.  He watched their back and they watched his.


I am not here to judge,” he would say to ease any guilty conscience that attempted to infiltrate his morals after manipulating the system to allow his client a free pass.  “Search and seizure procedures are clearly spelled out by the letter of the law,” he admonished a rookie police officer on the witness stand.  “You are not at liberty to ‘adjust’ the rules by your own freewill to fit a particular situation to afford an arrest.”  The rookie was seething and was visibly shaking as he acknowledged the mistake he made through gritting teeth.  The judge declared a mistrial and Marcus “The Hi-Way King” Lachesis strutted out of the courtroom.


Marcus was a bad man in several ways.  Not only did he sell drugs to minor children, he was also connected to an underage prostitution ring.  The rumor was that he ran the entire drug and sex industry in the city.  “No one or nothing gets pimped or sold without my approval, you dig,” he told his lawyer when he first met him over twelve years ago.  He had never spent more than one night behind bars since that time.


The incentive was there for him as a young lawyer as it still was today; money.  And there was plenty of money, all cash.  He would receive a suitcase full of one hundred dollar bills each time he kept his clients out of jail.  All though for IRS purposes he would submit a legal looking invoice to a fence company with legitimate business dealings.  “Offshore bank accounts have become my Xanadu.  There is no reason to believe in a higher authority than cash,” he was fond of saying to whomever would listen to him at Kelley’s Tavern.  I listened to him that night and made a mental note.


According to the Ten O’clock News he was found lying on the floor with one hand clutched to his chest and the other to his head.  There was no mention of the items on his desk or whether or not he was surfing the Internet.  It was conjectured that he had died from either a brain embolism or massive heart attack since no autopsy report was available at the time of the newscast.


The coroner’s report will reveal that he in fact died of both maladies.  However, for statistical purposes it will be reported as a heart attack.  They are the number one killers in America.  No reason to buck a trend.  This is perfectly fine, because it has taken any suspicion away from me.  Let me explain…


About ten years ago my younger brother died in a horrible manner when he was caught in a drive by shooting.  Rival gangs were in the middle of a turf war and collateral damage meant nothing to them.  Once order was restored to the area, my thirteen year old brother was found dead.  He had been hit by several stray gunshots and succumbed to the wounds before help could reach him.


According to the newspaper account, the war was over drugs and prostitutes.  My brother chose the wrong day to ride his bike one block too close to the turf.  There are no warning signs that state a person is “entering hostile territory, proceed at your own risk.”  My parents had moved to a city close by that area so my father would be nearer to the hospital where he was receiving his cancer treatments.  They were all excited at the prospect he would recover and the cancer be driven into remission.  He gave up the fight for his own life when he learned that his youngest son had been murdered.


I use the term ‘murder’ because that’s what it was; the police defined it as ‘accidental loss of life.’  No charges were ever pressed because there were no eye witnesses.  The police made a half assed showing to my parents and the town by making a minimal effort to solve the crime.  They concluded that there were not enough clues or evidence to investigate further so moved the case to the cold file storage area.  It appeased the local politicians, but not me.


It is most likely that I will never find my brother’s killer or killers.  What I have committed myself to doing is searching out those types of people that violated the morals and values of a decent society.  I am highly suspicious of anyone who delves in the world of crime, drugs, sex offenders, or anything that promotes the use of violence.  Let me share how I carried out these societal enemas…


In particle physics there is a force known as the “Zero-Point Energy Field” which is believed to be responsible for the interconnectedness of our existence with all things.  It has been theorized that this is the main way cells and other subatomic particles communicate with each other.  I took it a step further and proved the theory by turning it into reality.


Several renowned scientists have conducted experiments with low frequency energy waves that directly affect the tissues and organs in our body.  For example, one particular scientist in France kept the heart of pig alive and beating once it was surgically removed from the body for several days.   By using this energy field, the scientist set up a pair of speakers and aimed it at the heart using a signal that mimicked the song of blood flow.  The heart was “tricked” into believing that it was still needed and flowing blood so continued to beat like normal.


I read the story in somewhat disbelief, but chose to open my mind at the possibility.  I postulated that if the signal generated fooled the heart into beating, could an out of phase signal be used for the opposite purpose?  I set out to try my own experiments with stray cats in the neighborhood.  I don’t have anything against cats, it’s just that they were readily available and would not arouse suspicion.  It only took three tries before I was successful.  The fourth cat expired almost immediately when I amplified the signal through a set of computer speakers.  Part one solved.


The next problem I had left to workout was how to get some criminal type in front of the speakers to test it on a human.  I went back and reread the study and picked up something I scanned over prior, “… when the signals were tape recorded or put onto floppy disks and played… the results were identical.”  If the signals could be recorded and still work this indicates that they could be emailed as a sound file attachment much like an MP3 download.  Part two solved.


All that was left now was to email the sound clip to an unsuspecting victim and figure out how to get him to face the speakers at the proper angle, and turn up the volume.  The file would auto-execute and then delete itself once it finished playing.  The marketing trick was to convince the person to be directly in front of the speakers.  Some type of catchy spam mail offering a free trip or gadget would do the trick.  The instructions I came up with ask the person to face his speakers at such an angle that both ears would be needed to identify the special sounds emitted from the left speaker then the right one.  If the person guessed correctly, they won!  Part three solved.


That was the reason each victim was found near his computer dead allegedly surfing the Internet; which was quite convenient that these people could multi-task.  I did not fear being caught nor do I now.  There are so many ways to cloak and hide the originating email address that even if the police did have a clue, it would be many years before I was found out.  As Peter Parker once mused as Spiderman, “with great power comes great responsibility.”  I now possess great power and I am committed to using it for good.



From: Sounds of Silence

Sent: Mon 6/8/2009 6:18 PM

To: Marcus Lachesis

Subject: Prostitute Confessions

Attachment: Heartfelt.MP3


Place speakers so that confessions can be heard in each ear.  Identify which prostitute talked with the police before the recording runs out. Be sure to turn up the volume as their voices are really soft and difficult to hear on this copy, though a jury will hear them just fine.  See you in court!


Ten O’clock News:

Earlier today Marcus “The Hi-Way King” Lachesis was found dead in his home from an apparent heart attack…