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Norman Stickleback, that's me. I'm not what you would call a go-getter, I don't excel at anything, In fact at school the other kids used to call me Nothing Special N.S. or Normal Norman.

 

I had no great aspirations at school. No-one expected me to have any and so I didn't disappoint them. It became easy to conform to mediocrity. I can say though I only did that with an average C. As a small boy my mother would say to the shop-keeper that I was of average size for my age. My shoes were average and my hair cut was of the times, no fuss easy to manage and perfectly satisfactory as my father said.

 

I didn't sail through my school years nor did I fall behind. The most the headmaster could say was that I attended punctually; and that was about the sum of it. The teachers regarded me as a fixture in the classroom, third row in the middle. The rowdy lot sat at the back, the swots in the front, and I filled the gap in-between. That suited me because I hardly ever was called upon for anything. Sports weren't my thing, but I did run when required, coming the middle of the pack. Even when there were only three in the race I came second.

 

My parents were never ones to make a fuss and so we lived our lives in quiet anonymity. My father was a butcher and I followed in his path. He was kept busy but never over worked. My mother was a homebody, who went about her daily business with quiet contemplation. The Sticklebacks just got on with the daily grind of living.

 

So no-one was expecting it when I murdered my wife.

 

The papers didn't rate her disappearance and it wasn't mentioned. After all people go missing all the time. Some said she was hounded by mediocrity and couldn't take any more. But after a day or two no-one inquired and I didn't volunteer and so she slipped into the past tense like she never existed.

 

We used to like one another, before she got ideas above her station. She wanted me to be one of those go get 'em ideas man. I tried to impress upon her that I was just your ordinary Joe, nothing special. Still she tried to drag me up to the rarified air of the elite. I told her I would get vertigo. Then one day she bought me a new apron for work. A blue and white number with the shop name on the front. She said it had class. I didn't see it that way. Just drawing attention to yourself. Showing off. I refused to wear it. She wasn't hurt more like raving mad. She followed me into the cold room and I walked out and shut the door. Just habit I guess, but she stayed there, for about 4 days. I couldn't say when she gave up. But after the bank holiday and the long weekend she stopped trying to make me something I wasn't.

 

I kept working, catching the same bus, taking the same short walk to the butchers shop, eating the same ham sandwiches like I always did. Nothing much changed for me.

 

Oh I had to dispose of the body, but it was a small matter to cut her up at work. I kept her in the cold room. Then one morning before I opened the shop, I portioned her up, much like a pig. I had a mincing machine, so I did all the entrails with the belly fat and made sausages. Not that I intended to eat them but more of a private joke. She used to whinge that sausages were for the lower classes. Never mind I used to say that mine had prime beef or pork in them. And now she was a sausage. Justice in there somewhere, I think. By the time I had finished I was only left with the head. I popped it in the brine barrel and got ready to open up.

 

She once said she would like a pet. I gave her a dog from the pound. She wanted one of those fancy type dogs and the poor mutt I bought didn't cut the mustard. We gave it away in the end and her little yap dog (as I called it) only lived a year or two. Over priced and over bred I thought. Well the animal shelter was glad of her sausages, they thanked me for my generosity. She would have seen the sense in feeding the hungry animals. Doing good works I think she called it.

 

Some portions I froze and then every now and again I would take her fishing. I never caught much but she made good bait. I remarked to myself on more than one occasion that she turned out good for something in the end. She always said I was good for nothing. Even though I gave her everything I think she saw me as only a butcher and she didn't want to be known as the butchers wife.

 

I still had the head and it was pickled, so I decided to try my hand at crabbing. I never really enjoyed crustaceans but I reckon I could get used to them when I snapped up six beauties with my bait. It wasn't long before I just had a bone left. I wasn't quite sure how to get rid of it, until I saw a programme on the television about a place that was an old volcanic crater. It was reputed to be bottomless and so I thought I would toss her in after all she thought I was a bottomless pit of money.

 

I closed up shop for a few days which was a first for me, because I'd never had a holiday. I drove to Mt. Gambia and the Blue Lake. I stayed in the caravan park, and decided to enjoy myself with the tourist trail. I did the heritage walk and the short bush walk then I took her to the Blue Lake for a boat ride. I had her in a paper bag and I took the tour of the lake's centre. It was very informative telling us about the colour, depth, age and recent explorations. She said I was a workaholic and never took her anywhere. But here she was at this tourist spot getting a bird's eye view. When everyone went to one side of the boat to look at the sunset, I gently let go of the bag on the other side. I had taken the precaution of weighing her down with her gold jewelry. She said she never had anywhere to wear her jewels. The bag went straight into the depths. And then I rejoined the others to enjoy the view.

 

Six months later I had to chuckle about a news item on the television. Apparently a skull was found draped in gold chain, thought to be a significant find in the Blue Lake. Sacrificial some said. No, I remarked no sacrifice on my part.

 

They put her in a museum claiming to have found ancient human remains. She wasn't ancient, 40 more like. I liked Mt. Gambia and made it an annual holiday destination. Of course I visited the display. She looked pretty good after six years. Hadn't aged a bit, and now she got her wish to be consorting with people of standing, people with letters after their name.

 

Every year for two weeks I booked in at the Blue Lake Caravan Park, and visited the wife. I used to bring my ham sandwiches to the museum, and I'd have a bit of a chat to her.

 

We seemed to strike up quite a friendship. She'd mellowed over the years and we started to like one another. Funny how timed can alter a persons outlook. I began to see she wasn't such a bad ol' stick after all. Then one day the attendant said he noticed me and we got to talking. He said they were hunting for the lower jaw.

 

"Oh I've got that," I said.

 

He didn't believe me at first, but when I produced it he believed me. They matched up of course. I don't know why they thought they wouldn't, although with her fillings, she didn't look ancient any more. She said she was glad we had made it up after all these years.

 

And Doctor, you know, she said, I was something out of the ordinary. Her first kinds words for years.

 

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