It’s the buzzing that does it. A dull, high pitched whine. So insistent yet pointless. Relentlessly passively obnoxious
That does something to me.
I can’t think. No- not true. I can think. But my thoughts are infected, corrupted by that noise. That noise.
What is it?
I don’t know what I’m asking. Am I talking about myself or the buzzing?
I know what the buzzing is. Not specifically. I’ve got a general idea. Some piece of machinery somewhere. The florescent lights for all I know.
I hate florescent lights.
The lights and the buzzing. It does something to me.
What does it feel like? A hospital? A prison? A microscope?
I don’t know. Maybe all of them.
It’s too quiet. Like a hospital. Just the buzz of machinery. My own breathing. Dying breaths. That’s what it sounds like. Is it the buzzing that gives it that effect?
I’m not dying.
I should thank someone for that. I never thank anyone anymore. Shame on me the ungrateful jerk. But what am I supposed to say? Thanks for saving my life, it meant a lot?
The trouble is, it didn’t mean a lot.
I was just sitting there, looking idly at death and someone pushed me back before it could touch me. I didn’t care. One minute I was on my feet, the next I was on the ground. That’s all there was to it. I didn’t care where that ground was I had been standing on. So what if it was the middle ground between death and life? It was just another stretch of ground.
I think the buzzing is infiltrating my brain. It feels like radiation. I can imagine it eating away at my brain like acid.
I can’t stand it.
I don’t know why. I can stand so much else.