I rise early, today's the day – I'm going to do something heinous.
My victim sleeps; blissfully unaware of what awaits him.
I eat a bowl of blueberries, revelling in their sweetness, like nutrition packed M&Ms. Lavender tea is my beverage of choice this morning; it helps keep a steady hand, essential for the job.
He wakes happy. His face crumpled and pillow scarred, evidence of a solid nights sleep. I show no evidence of my evil intention. I return his smile. I'm so sly.
He trusts me, a trait that will help with my dastardly deed. I'm dreadful you see.
......
In the afternoon I allow him 60 minutes on the computer. He won't communicate with anyone, I've blocked access to social network sites for the moment: games only.
I use this time to prepare, laying my tools on a sterile surface, placing them with a surgeon's precision.
You see, I'm a Surgical Nurse, the backbone of a surgical team. I enjoy the job, but I hope to be a fully-fledged surgeon one day. I'm ambitious – this is practice.
......
I'm almost ready. I just have to instill in him a false sense of security, and wait for darkness to descend.
......
Not long now, the cloak of night falls swiftly in October.
......
The time arrives; I call him to the basement.
He comes willingly, his face so fresh and smiling.
......
His face. The one I am about to disfigure for my own ghoulish, academic pursuit.
He'll feel no pain during the process – I promise you that.
......
I work swiftly, but carefully.
I begin the open wound on the left side of his forehead, and make a slice down to the right side of his cheek. I expose the muscle and tissue beneath.
I'm sure you'll appreciate it's messy work. I will spare you the details, there's no need for unnecessary gratuity during my operative tutorial.
Once I'm satisfied he looks repulsive and his blood has congealed I rouse him.
......
He walks towards the mirror, unaware of the horror that awaits.
......
His pained scream fills the house. He turns to look at me; his disfigurement hides his anguish – "Mum, what've you done to me?"
It's the response I wanted – I can't help but laugh.
He continues to scream – "I told you I wanted to be The Joker from Batman, not a cut-up Monster!"
I compose myself whilst I wipe my hands of face paint, and make-up – "James, everyone does the Joker, I thought I'd be more creative. You have to admit it, it looks amazing, you'll scare the pants of the neighbours – now, get out there and trick or treat."
I think I made the wrong career choice; I should have been a make-up artist.
