The Y Incision

By Timothy Ayers

Where do you draw the line between friendship and society's laws and customs ? How far would you go for a friend ? Would you break the law? Would you cut out a mans heart !! Take a short venture into the offbeat friendship between an aging shop keeper and his isolated native American friend. You may find yourself kept up late at night after reading this story, unable to sleep and bothered with some deep questions that CUT STRAIGHT TO THE HEART !!!

This is a short story that unloads a lot. It may trouble some and it may simply entertain others but one thing for certain, you wont be able to stop reading !

If your looking for a WILD read that's not like anything else, look no further. "The Y Incision" packs a literary punch !!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365246944

Book preview

I’m not what you would call an author, but I’m going to try this anyhow. I’m writing down this account because I’m getting on in years and starting to forget stuff. In a few more years, I probably won’t remember it at all, or if I do, I might not be able to get the facts straight no more. It’s important to me because not much happened to make my life special; only this one thing stands out. It’s quite extraordinary really. However, I’m not sure how people will take it. They might think me a foul monster, or maybe admire me for it? Well anyhow, my name is Horace, and I’m writing this now because I’m becoming forgetful and I want someone to know what I did and the reason I did it.

I was born and lived my whole life in Franklin County, New York—upstate New York, that is. Lots of folks hear New York and immediately think of the big dirty city, but it’s also a real big state and parts of it are as far away from the city as could be, Franklin County being one of them. As a matter of fact, I have never even been to New York City at all. Can you imagine that? I’m a real live country bumpkin from New York!

I will tell you just how isolated and backwards my area is. Just down the road from my house is a farmhouse that gained notoriety some years ago. You see, the house was occupied by three brothers. It had been a while since their folks had died, and the brothers all took refuge in that house. After some 30 years of no one hearing from them, one of the brothers was found dead under suspicious circumstances. There was this big investigation, and turns out they think one of the brothers did in the other. The way they found out was what the essence of depravity is in my humble opinion. They used that new fandangled DNA evidence. I won’t go into details, but turns out the brothers may have been closer than anyone thinks. People do some sick things when they are isolated.

I’m one to talk, though! This account is about me doing something people might consider sick. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m no pervert or anything close to one. I’m married and have normal relations. At least I did until a few years ago. Now I’m old and don’t feel for that stuff no more. That’s part of the reason for me taking pen to pad. I could never focus long enough to write when I was younger, thinking about passionate things all the time.

So I suppose you are wondering what it is that I’ve done to warrant the writing of an account. I’m going to tell you, but first I’ve got to warn you that it’s kinda gruesome. Sometimes I wake up from deep sleep shuddering at what I’ve done, but on those nights where I get deep into a case of beer and start getting what I think is called retrospective, I feel more like what I did makes me as noble as those English knights at the round table—noble and honorable indeed, it was.

You know, I’ve never settled on whether or not drunkenness makes you stupid or wise. I suppose I just figure that when one believes feelings under drunkenness more than feelings when one is sober, one is an alcoholic. In that case, I’m an alcoholic indeed. I like the way I feel about my actions when I’m drunk. I really hate the way I feel about my actions after church, though. That’s why I don’t go anymore. I go to the bar instead. I’m kinda ashamed of that, really.

Alright, so I will tell you what it is that I’ve done to warrant this account. I don’t want you to get disappointed, though, ’cause lots of folks have done worse things. Just the other day, I watched the news and heard about this guy who shot up people in the subway down in that city I’ve never been to. With stuff like that going on, it would be hard for anyone to pay much attention to what I did. That’s why I never ’fessed up to the police all those times the beer wore off and I realized what I’d done. I figured if I told anyone about it now, so many years later, they would have to spend months researching the old files just to find out if the crime I committed—ripping a man’s heart out of his chest—ever happened at all. Yeah, that’s what I said. I ripped a man’s heart from his chest. How can that be noble, you ask? Well, all I can say is that life’s full of deep misunderstandings. I remember right after I’d done the deed, there was an article in the paper that blamed it on devil worshipers! Can you believe it? Despite abandoning church, I’m a god-fearing man, and I’m about as terrified of the devil as a man could be. When I read those headlines, it was the first time I realized