He, Dynamite.

I have a cancer. In my life. Unbreakable. I say 'have'. I do not own it. I just can't seem to shift it, a niggling reminder of inadequacy. Watch as I resect the story of the thing from within my mind. Listen as the body of the thing howls for its lost history from within my brain. My fingers are swift and precise. They will leave no trace of the surgery.

*

As the days follow into Spring proper, on comes the annual surpise of bright morning - when, indeed, they are bright. Each year, Winter places its hands over our eyes, and removes them with an "Aha! Got you", revealing the glamour of bluer skies, greener fields, and cheerier faces as one might extravagantly unveil a new beau to one's friends - assuming self-confidence too much?

The early morning light spilled into the attic room. On days as this alarm clocks were redundant, and one felt a certain serenity as the natural power of the Sun woke you and fed all its gospel of motivation and spirit of action. I had woken strong, with immediate clarity. Even the shadows cast around the room were inviting; warm rather than the insincere gothicism usually emanating from a room's dark corners. Pin ups of golden age faces themselves turned gold from the light. A good morning, then.

I stirred, found my feet. The light - yes, the light still - shone fierce off a woollen jumper over my desk chair. It struck me hard and sudden that even in this simple item - the glory of the morning must have tended me toward philosophising - could be seen the way of the world. At the very least the best way way in which the world is to be seen. Threads turned this way and that, differing perspectives amounting to thesame thing, as each human mind finds its own flavour of perceiving the worlds - delicious to them alone. 

I dressed quickly so I might hurry to welcome the day into the house as much as possible before the cosmos caught wind of my optimism and soured it with a downpour of blood or swarm of spiritualists. The living room was made bright, the kitchen swelled from a disappointment to an all-providing beast with the glorious power of the day. Keeping the feeling natural and wholesome, that's the ticket. Decaf. As the water boiled I ran my fingers through my hair, getting out the knots and relieving the brain of any unnecessary compression. Good day some more, then. No knots, indeed. Bloody good show. Very free is the brain and are the thoughts today.

As I stirred sugar into my coffee, I read the note I had written the morning before. It encouraged me to develop further the device. Perfect time to do so. What are its benefits? More sweet mixed in. People would be happier for it, they'd have got more out of what they put in - I had stirred my mug to whirlpool by this time - increased alertness, perhaps? Greater productivity, the cornerstone of a thriving economy. Modafinil and those others might be put out, too. I know a girl who once took too many before an exam and had no idea what was going on her head was so messed up, not sure she even spelt her name correct. Target market equals struggling students. Could pair that story with a KEEP YOUR KIDS CLEAN to get parents on board too.

I stopped stirring and developing to answer a rap and a knock and a ring at the door. I must have looked a god descended as the daylight adorned my hallway and me in it, for the man before me stepped back into the road almost upon seeing me. He seemed to focus, once recovered, on the doormat at my feet than than on my feet or me myself. One can understand his fascination with the piece, of course. It was a marvel of mine own design. It still is. Printed in gold on a background of black are the words 'In a world where religion is king and we use the term "nowadays" to belittle the attitudes and outlooks of contemporary society in comparison to the glory days of the '50s when polio was rife and genocide was a hobby, findings that demonstrate a relationshipo between religiosity - the degree to which a person engages with a particular set of recognised religious beliefs - and prosocial behaviour - intent to benefit others - might seem a goldrush for all those who long for "Hello" instead of "Uhuh", and open arms instead of acid attacks.' A masterpiece.

"Big doormat," the man said to me, "Must have big feet mustn't you?"

Big sentiment, rather," I replied. I assumed a power-stance to ensure he remained away on the curb, far from the mat which he was clearly intent on making off with. It had no effect, however, and I realised that I had not been the sole recipient of the day's brilliance. Come forward, then, brother. Together we might rule what we decide is ours.

Before approaching the man bent and lifted a box. As he handed it to me his feet planted firm on the mat. It was clear on his face that he felt its power coarsing through him.

"Powerful words aren't they? You feel it as I do,"I looked to embrace him as a brother in shared experience. Yet, his reply assuring me that he knew not to which words nor what power I referred sealed his disownment from the family. He turned to a van and got in and went away. The last I saw of him was the logo and motto on the back of his fleece, reading, in bold white letters, "YOU THINK WE DELIVER."

The ambiguity of that motto laid seige to the glorious power the day had impressed upon me. Was it a bargain? You think, we deliver. Or was it a practical joke of some sort of some how, like Winter concealing Spring from us. You think we deliver...well guess again hot-shot. Either/Or, it weighed heavy on me. That and the box were unbearable together. One had to go before the other could follow it into abandonment. The box crunched at my feet and at the frame of the living-room doour as I kicked it before me. 

Upstairs again, in the bathroom now. I ran the shower as hot as it would, trying to sweat out the sluggishness the encounter with my one-time brother had brought on. It seemed to slow me. mind and body, thickening each up like a hangover born out of snake out consumption. The steam revived the power of the day too, giving the light almost tangible rays, rungs to my hopes and to my wants. A note to myself, touched into the mirror the previous day, was also resurrected. Not one of my best, very little power to be found in those words. The steam grew thicker and began to hid the words once more, but the sluggishness only sweated out more quickly, and the need for action and success that had given my morning such colour was returned. The not 'USELESS CUNT' forgotten, blotted out of existence by my tongue - I must admit. I was fortified once more, and felt shielded against anything else, for when one had lost a brother - as I had just - when one has lost someone so entirely connected to you - as that brother of mine had been - one is immune to danger, augmented and made invulnerable, distanced from it according to evolutionary plans. So quickly does fate and Fate change direction and her mind. So fickle the emotions that govern our days and the days that have gone or might come. 

I put pen to wall, so as not to lose those last two thoughts. I couldn't bear to lose anything else so dear to me, not today. No, I am new. Strong and determined like before the disownment. I remembered the box, lying crumpled downstairs, lonely. An only child. Like moi. With no-one to spoil it. Yet, I'll spoil it alright. Filthy bitch when she did that to mine own flesh.