3:25AM.

I've volunteered to do the bulk of the work tonight. I've always been the responsible one, taking the heaviest load while the others rest. The cogs in my mind have been turning, cycling thoughts through the vast space between my brain and my mouth. If I'm going to be up all night,I may as well entertain myself. The city is quiet and the only light I have is flooding from the bright lamp hanging above my work table.There's a small window to the left, giving me a clear view, thought's foggy, of the bright tower in the distance. A shame we live so far from the light, but we belong on the outskirts, closer to the winding labyrinth of skulls and stale breath of death. It's hard to imagine, even after all I've seen, that a human made that tower- the beaming icon of the city blooming fashion, bleeding love, and cobbled with artistic dreams. Ah, humans.

  What makes a human?

In a more literal definition, it's a body made with layers- skin, muscle,tissue and bone. If you take a scalpel and make the correct incisions, you can see what lies beneath the flesh of the body.Deeper within there's one heart, two lungs, two kidneys, intestines –well, you get the picture. All of these things can be removed and kept contained, filling jars with various colors and shapes. Everything a human is can be cut up, cut out, sewn in and melted shut. That's what we call The Surface. Let's look deeper, shall we? Cut away the hair that hides the lying eyes and remove the protective skull piece that guards secrets. With the mind exposed, we can see a different definition of human. We see what actions can restore faith in humanity, like saving a dog no one owns from the harsh, screeching tires of the freeway. The kindness that ebbs from those who reach out their clean hands and rest it against ones that cannot afford soap.The warmth of love between two people, no matter who they choose to be. The bright ray of happiness that rises like the sun in the east,and glows like burning embers that set in the west. The soft lullaby of dreams and ambitions, shedding light on a future unknown. Yes, all of these breathe life into a human. But, what happens when a human lacks one of these breaths, wheezing to catch something far from their precious grasp? They choke on one word, throat constricted by the boa that crawls from the shadows cast.

Monster.

What is a monster? I can't say for sure. Is it the shadow cast on your wall when you turn the light out or the thing that bumps under your bed? Is it the thing in your closet that snarls and glares through the sliver of a crack? According to a human, a monster has no heart, no happiness, no love and has no relation to anything close to themselves. Monsters feed off of fear, they say, and dig their claws deep into your insecurity. Their spines arch with pleasure when flooded with the ice cold winds of hatred. Their warped, jerking bones shake to the symphony of screams cascading the air. Monsters spawn words into mouths like hatred, anger, malice, spitefulness, and cruelty beyond imagination. Yes, all of these are thought to be the breaths of monsters. We call this The Difference.

The Difference is something that lies in each and every human. You all have it inside of you, sometimes lying dormant beneath the warm blanket above it. You should be grateful. My brothers and I weren't born with The Difference. When we were born, people called us monsters and cast us away, fearing we would harm them or even curse them- even though we looked just like everyone else. We have the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth- we are three in one and one in three. We're called The Cerberus. Individually, we're called Malice, Spite and Cruelty. Words that bleed into monsters, but are brothers to one another. Our lack of The Difference gives us a keen sense on finding it in others. It's what makes Jacklyn Beckett different from Derrick Sloan. Their bodies are the same as any other human, but Jacklyn has scars on her heart,while Derrick has scars on his skin. But, Jacklyn is a widowed seamstress and Derrick is a serial killer. Do you see The Difference?

Physically and visually, they are both human.

Physically and visually, they are both dead.

How they are remembered is The Difference.

Jacklyn will be remembered for her kind heart and gentle soul.

How they die is The Havoc.

Derrick was slain by wild wolves while hiding in the snowy woods.

Where they go after they die is The Judgment.

Jacklyn will be graced with peace, no doubt. She's already on her way.

How they are prepared for their journey is The Cerberus.

Derrick will be dissected and embalmed by yours truly. And, true to my monstrous nature, I'm going to start looking through his wallet.Pictures of women, signed on the back and dated, are stuffed into the worn leather fold. A wrinkled, slightly torn five dollar bill crusted into the bend. A credit card with a worn magnetic strip and a faded bank logo. A card from a lawyer with an e-mail scribbled onto the back. An old train ticket- people still ride the train? Looks like he was headed to a place called Pleasant Valley. "Yeesh, don't think you're gonna end up there," I mutter, shaking the wallet. Something falls and catches my eye.

Oh?What do we have here? An identification card. And what's that on the bottom? Organ Donor.Imagine that- a monster donating his organs to a struggling human.Does that excuse the crimes of frivolous murder? No, of course not.But, we can't go denying his final wish, can we? Maybe he was human along time ago- once upon a time, right? Regardless of the identification card, I'm going to use his organs anyway. What's he gonna do about it- he's dead. I toss the card into the trash can and finally pull myself from my work. I stare down at my hands, gloved fingers dripping with red strings of thick liquid. It amazes me how much blood a deceased body can contain. How delicately the red glosses the latex glove, slippery as I rub my index and thumb together. I could talk about the human body and its ingredients all day, but The Parlor opens in a few hours and we need to have everything ready by the time it does.

I glance at the clock. 5:23AM. I sigh and tear my gloves off,throwing them into the garbage, letting the latex engulf the ID card and bury it. The flesh on my fingers is cold, but the moisture hasn't caused any pruning (a fascinating reaction to overexposure, if you ask me). I run my hands along the sides of my head, smoothing back strands of hair that have escaped their tight hold back. I grab onto the handle of the rolling cart and lean down. "Hang on, Mister Sloan. We're going for a little ride," I say in a mocking tone. The wheels make an ungodly squeaking sound as I roll the cart down the long hallway. "My cart doesn't really like you." I turn the corner and there's another room, though this one is dimly lit and has many machines cooped inside. Identical faces turn to me and I wave a hand lazily.

"It's about time, Spite," my brother, Cruelty, complains, "We were starting to worry."

"Yeah, we thought you might have eloped with the body." Malice. Though we're all the same age, I feel like Malice has a more child-like mind in his head. It's a shame I can't cut it open to find out, spill his secrets out and find out just what he's looking for in life. "Then we heard the cart screaming down the hallway."

"It's the only thing that screams these days," I reply dully. I push the cart and make sure it lines up well with the one beside it. There's a figure lying beneath a deep, green tarp. I can see a tuft of hair,though it looks more like a scruff of black feathers- what a crow's nest.

"This the one you found earlier," I ask, knowing my nose is wrinkling up, "It smells like a Havoc." Malice huffs and motions to the body on the table. I shrug and begin to pull the jars from the lower shelf of the cart, setting the organs out for my brothers to see. They take a look and then lean under the tarp to inspect the figure, then begin inserting the organs one by one. Since I've done the bulk of the work, I take the moment to slip a hand in my pocket and pull out a cigarette.

I barely get it between my teeth when Cruelty pulls his head from the tarp.

"Don't smoke in here. If we light the thing on fire, it won't be anything remotely close to what we want." I scoff, but I guess he has a point. Still, I let the rolled up tobacco rest between my teeth- unlit and useless to me. My tongue flicks the end as I watch the two work, tasting the bitter, tempting grains resting there. Now there are two heads pulling from under the tarp.

"Ready?" Malice nods and I wave my hand. Cruelty steps back and looks up towards the sun roof. The first signs of dawn are beginning to bleed into the night sky. From here, you can see the stars and part of the slightly curved moon. Soon, they will fade and be consumed by the light of day. As will we. When day breaks, we will dress in neat suits and feign sympathy for the grievers that enter the parlor. Just another appointment. Just another day.

"Spite." I look back to Malice, who is standing beside the head of the hidden figure.

"Are you sure," Malice asks me, looking hesitant and doubtful of his actions.

"Remember what The Boss said, Malice," I say, reaching my hand out to rest it on his shoulder. I can feel the trembling. I grip and give him a reassuring look. "People have been afraid of us since birth. If we're the monsters of the world, then we have to find out what's hiding under the humans' skins. I mean, for fuck's sake, have you watched the news in America lately? They're making a big fuss over some guy who wants to sit down during a song, but they won't look at his reasoning. And don't get me started on the Rock-'em-Sock-'em leader race they have going on over there." Malice laughs weakly and I hear Cruelty let out an ugly snort. "We've got a job to do.You've got a job to do."

I see confidence in his eyes and I know that he knows. He presses his hand to the chest area of the figure, fingers pushing gently against the tarp. He uses such care- I don't understand how he can be one of three. His eyes clench shut and I can see his jaw tighten.Remember when I said people were afraid of us? It wasn't exactly because we're triplets. It was because of what we could do. Malice lets out a loud rush of air and Cruelty is quick to catch him. We all lean forward to look at the tarp, watching for movement. I hear a faint rustle and I see a slight twitch. Cruelty shifts back and I see the smile forming on Malice's face. It's time the world was reminded what a real monster is: visually, literally and figuratively.

Here's a riddle to rattle your brain.
What does a monster and a human have in common?

It's alive.