The Sounds of Life.

I hear my eyelids first. My eyes are dry. My eyelids grind against my eyes. My eyes are dry. I blink awake and squish my eyes with my fingers.The alarm, the soothing alarm lifts me out of the bed. The soothing alarm takes me away from the nightmarish cacophony of sleep.  The dehumidifier bubbles and the soft vapour hisses. I get up and my bones creak and I hear my knees snap and my toes crack. The air conditioning hums after the heavy click of the switch when I turn it on. The calm breathing. The ragged breathing. The calm breathing. The sputter of the coffee maker and the stream of the cat fountain. I open the blinds and they riffle bouncing plastic together slapping against each other before settling down to be gently wafter by the air conditioner. The high frequency whine of the television fills the room. The cat complains for breakfast and the tumbling pieces of dried biscuits tap tap tap tap into the bowl. Traffic moans past outside. The shower sounds like wind in trees. The phones beeps alerts. None of the alerts are important and yet I look at it every time check every message and hope that next time it will be something important. Footsteps and murmurings. Fridge doors opening silently and slamming loudly. Carpet fall footsteps. Memories are silent. Imaginary noises are hidden in the shadows. The sun quietly warms the morning. The trees bend. The constantly tuning orchestra of my madness follows me wherever I go. The train screeches into the station. The seat I sit on squeaks when I sit on it. There is not talking. I think I hear the tapping of fingers on phones but I am not sure if that is my imagination or not. There is no whistling from the building site but the machinery roars and grinds as equipment is carried high up into the air to the top floor of an unfinished building. The murmuring continues in the office as the ritual of interaction is engaged. The beating of hard and the pumping of blood. It is happening. It is happening everywhere. I can sense it. I know it is happening but I cannot hear it. I think I can see it. I think I can see the veins pulsating on the forehead of a colleague but then I look a little too closely and it is just the light but they are looking at me and our eyes lock for a little too long. Water pouring into a glass. The sound of wetness. I glug the water and it dribbles. I do not hear it dribble. The cacophony of keyboards. I go outside and the traffic is quiet. No horns sound. Tires roll on road and engines whisper together. A leaf falls. Insects can probably hear it. The satellites can probably hear it. I cannot hear it. The orange that is sitting on the desk makes no noise. I can feel the noise of the day becoming overwhelming. I can feel the sound of life. I cannot hear the sound. I cannot listen. The hums, the bubbles, the sighs, the roars, the thumps, the creaks, the moans, the cries, the screams, the screams, the whizzing bullets of another massacre in progress no fast editing no music soundtrack just the same background noise that accompanies a coffee with a friend or a picnic with a lover or a browse through a bookstore as the bodies fall and the eyes glaze and the hands grasp and the heroes disappear. I press the off switch. I hear the click. It echoes. It echoes. It echoes.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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