She winds the clock back so it can continue ticking forward. Sigh to the metronome, breathe in time to its beat.
There were two of them there, listening; a set of shallow breaths. Each was hung on a slow heart beat. And as their hearts grew braver they gave way to heavy sighs. Until soon there was only one heart beat, that clung to one breath.
And as a steady breath rose and fell, outside the rain fell in time to-
nothing.
It fell oblivious to the rhythm or the ticking clock.
I’m afraid of daybreak. When it comes it means it’s over. This night we built. We put our hearts and souls into it and soon all that’s left is memory. And you can’t touch memory. I can’t feel this night once it’s over. And it will all be tainted by the broken body I wake up in.
So please save the daylight for someone who needs it. Someone praying to scare the monsters from under her bed. And leave me here with these monsters. These guised leaders of truth. Let me speak and laugh and live night; live dark. These false tales are comforting to clouded minds.
I held your gaze as I dragged the dagger down your gut. Though, despite my full intention, my eyes watered when you bled.
And now I try to sew the wound, frantic, scrambling; but the pieces won’t go back the way they were. My stained red hands shake before me like someone else’s- they won’t go back the way they were. I stand now a criminal, as dirty blood pumps through my veins. And when I pull the sharp blade out- it can never be the same. My filthy heart keeps beating on, a polluted beat, polluted beat, my filthy heart keeps beating on, a soiled grubby beat.
But my ego blushed when you said my name, so let’s not play this wicked game- of Red Rover, Red Rover, you always call me over, and my heart breaks when I abstain. So when I ran full force to you, I closed my eyes too tight. I listed to my bad blood pounding, but knew it wasn’t right. So that when I felt my body break beneath yours I pushed back, ignoring reason. I tried to start a fire with our grinding bones, careless of who would burn. Now bits of me have burned away until I’m no longer who I thought I was- until
I’m
no longer
someone I can
trust.
But these panting dogs are watching me- my chest tightens, as theirs heave. They growl when I draw too close, sensing my deceit. I wish these dogs would turn away, but I dare not turn first. These dirty dogs can sense my guilt; I stand forever cursed.
I wish it didn’t make me sick when we kissed, and my hand didn’t pull away from yours. But when I reach up to feel your face it’s a chore. You feel like brambles and your breath smells toxic. Like the stuff under the sink. You never want to reach under there, and yet here I am. Always reaching under, holding my breath.
I wish you wouldn’t touch me there. My legs, closed together in protest to greedy prodding fingers are so casually ignored. Your groping hands leave red marks on my skin, like Indian burns.
I stare into your eyes and pretend it doesn’t hurt, hoping you’ll hear my tormented mind screaming. The child, foolishly pretending her older brother’s rubbing hands against her wrist are aren’t heating. But you never hear. You always kiss me with your window cleaner breath and act like we’re in love. And as I wait patiently for you to finish with my lips I pretend like we’re in love. And I lay wide-eyed trying to forget your sweaty body pressed to mine.
The worst part was the people walking by. I tried to look upset – make my eyes water. Maybe then they’d think I had been bullied or hurt. I kicked at the grey synthetic carpet with my wet runners, slow dancing internally to the squeaky symphony.
A steady gaze from a secretary cut short my musical career. There was no fooling her with my puppy dog eyes. She had seen my walk of shame at the principal’s heals and witnessed his stern words ushering me to my seat. She could see me for the convict that I was.
The room was sterile. Asphyxiating. I found myself choking on my thoughts.
I tried to remember why I had done it. The only thing that came to mind was white rage.
I thought of my mother and felt sick.
Some of the other kids had said something about a black book. If your name got written there it would never go away. A black stain on your past.
I thought of my dad and felt worse.
The infernal tic tocking was enough to drive a person mad.
Lunatic.
Yes, that was why I did it.
Luna-tic tock, tic. tock. tic. tock…
I pretended to have magic powers. That I could crawl into people’s minds and curl around them. Maggot my way into their hearts. I wish I knew what I was supposed to say.
My powers changed and I was invisible. The only thing left behind was a peaceful shiny aura. At least this way I don’t leave behind a sour taste in their mouths.
My eyes willed Mr. Goffman’s door to the wall. Welded the hinges shut – imprisoning.
The handle turned.
My superpowers broke.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
Her laughter grew louder, with fewer and fewer breaths in between until it was just a steady stream. No one knew what to say. Everyone stared uncomfortably at each other, then back at her. The joke had not been very funny.
She stood doubled over, the room silent but for her hysterical laughter. Suddenly everyone felt awkward in their long swaying dresses and tight suits. Men pulled uncomfortably at their ties. What is wrong with this woman? Who invited her? A young man approached her cautiously and touched her lightly on the back. In one swift motion she swung her body straight up to face the boy, and unhesitatingly pulled his face to hers. Never ceasing with her maddening laughter she pressed her body against his. The boy, shocked, grabbed her by the arms and gently tried to redirect her movement, but she was committed. She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and held his face against hers.
“See?” She shouted, still holding a fistful of the young man’s hair. “We all came here to have a good time! So what are you waiting for?” Again she threw her head back and launched into a cacophony. She brought her gaze back to the stunned crowd. “What? Afraid to let loose? Don’t act like you’re not all pleased you’ll have something to talk about at the end of the night. I’m probably the most interesting thing that’s happened to you all year!” Her smile never left her face. It stood unwavering like some kind of permanent fixture. “I’ll leave you to you’re lives now,” she concluded, “if that’s what you’d like. I promise you won’t be bothered by me again.” As she left she grabbed a bottle of champagne from a nearby table and made an eccentric bow before turning out the door.
The group slowly started moving again, with growing rumbles of conversation. The young man stood and watched the room diffuse and return to normal.
“I’m leaving now.” she said.
“I know it.”
The dialogue was curt and unflourished. Neither wanted to extend or elaborate.
The digital seeps through my pores and corrupts. I feel the rust setting in as I am integrated with the machine. My vision is coded and binary. I filter numbers and interpret raw fact. I see not but objective data. The sunset is rendered a subset of hues and light frequencies, and the magic is gone.
My emotions are subdued and robotic in nature. I run on electricity and mass produced food. I remember the human specimen that was once myself with apathetic detachment. I am new and high tech. Streamlined to perfection, I leave behind the whimsical absurdity of a soul. I am here to expand. To harvest the resources left to me. I am here to devour.
An anechoic chamber is one
in which there is no sound. Careful skill is placed
in removing every decibel.
Once inside, no one can hear a thing. So let the music play.
Let the lighting storm of sound
make its full procession.
Once inside there is no echo.
You cannot listen to reverberations.
You can let your throat go numb
and feed the walls.
Nourish them with sweet wails loud.
A comfortable silence is a difficult thing to achieve.
She kept doing it anyways. She didn’t care that it was cutting away at her. Exposing her flesh, muscle and bone. No. She couldn’t do anything about it. She pushed aside the reality of the fact that she had no choice. Like a robot she worked. Doing the motions, doing the motions.
Sometimes she would cry. In private she would wipe the tears away with soft kleenex, trying to keep the panic at bay. Keep flipping the pages, she would say. Keep flipping the pages. Like a story book she told herself it had to end. That she would move steadily towards some kind of finale. Only no one cared but her, and she derived no enjoyment from the story.
She enjoyed food and company while it lasted. Laughing heartily with dark red wine spilling from the sides of thin glass she took easy pleasure that never endured beyond the evening. People enjoyed her company. She told her friends how she felt sometimes, and they would look at her sympathetically and offer comforting words before returning to their own problems and forgetting. “It will be alright. We all go through tough times like this. You know we’re here for you.” She would nod politely and thank them for their hallow, uncomprehending support. They didn’t know the meaning of empathy.
She tried to kill herself but lacked the courage. Like so many other times she simply couldn’t commit. The ultimate finality of it all caused a tremor through her being. She gave up trying and began to satisfy herself with fantasies. Images of loose rope and cyanide swam through her thoughts like an erotic pleasure. She imagined what it would be to go to sleep and fail to rise. The thoughts sent shivers down her spine. A reliable source of pleasure, it became a rare form of ecstasy.
She lived. She lived. She lived.
White Noise and Apathy 