Cautionary Tale

This one just came out of nowhere. I started with “You reap what you sow” and somehow ended up here. Enjoy

The Overlapping Voices

“I SIMPLY CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK!” Every voice overlapping, every single one questioning why, over and over again without a single breath between each word. This is the tale of Steven Brockett, a man with little to nothing but the bottom of a bottle.

His first offense happened after a particularly hard drinking session where he stumbled home and bumped into a young man.

“Watch where you’re going pal!”, the man said clearly not realising the state Steven was in. Steven saw red and swung at him, fist flying with the fury of a sledgehammer and no regard for his own wellbeing. The punch connected, knocking the man down an alley where Steven stalked him down to deal another blow. The punches didn’t stop and Steven suddenly felt power like he never had before; for the first time ever, he was in control.

As Steven walked home with that feeling of power and joy, he didn’t give a second thought to the man he’d just left behind unmoving. The man was to be a father next week but what does it matter to the fatherless child when Steven felt like that. However, that feeling didn’t last forever. It wasn’t long until it faded and he wanted to feel powerful all over again. Instead he collapsed on his bed, clothes bloody and fist bruised.

The following day at his job, his colleague spent all day grinding down on his patience. Always asking why, never just letting Steven be. Sometimes the question didn’t sound like it came from his colleague, the voice sounded like someone he’d met the previous night. Eventually something snapped inside him. He’d had enough. As they left for home, Steven followed the colleague just long enough to find somewhere to teach him a lesson. The anticipation of feeling in control against his work was making him jumpy and before long he made his move

This time, exhilaration is the only way to describe how he felt; without the alcohol holding back his joy he was free to feel the full power of what it felt like. Another body on the list. But this time the feeling of power faded just slightly faster. It faded just fast enough for him to decide to sink his guilt the way he used to know how, at the bottom of the bottle. He stopped after pint number four, realising it wasn’t going to work like it used to. That night he dreamed of his fist flying and another voice joined him in his sleep asking questions.

Each day went by and the list of people increased, a bus driver, a librarian, too many others to count. The voices only grew, they started to intertwine and each kill had less of a feeling of euphoria compared to the last. Always looking for the next fix, just another hit, another chase. His addiction had simply shifted from drink to murder and he’d started to become immune to the effect it brought him.

But the voices bothered him. He started seeking out ways to try and drown them out. Earmuffs didn’t work, earplugs didn’t either. He bought earbuds to play music through hoping music would drown them out. The voices started singing along instead. Pills could put him to sleep but they arrived in his dreams and the following morning. Drinking excessively didn’t help and his new addiction kept pushing for more and more sacrifices.

And so we arrive at a man who sat in his home, hearing the overlapping voices, all questioning why. Nothing had worked to make them stop. And so his final idea was to allow him to not hear them anymore; you can’t hear without any ears. He sliced the first one off, so numb to his own pain he didn’t even flinch; but the voices continued and didn’t silence. One more ear was all he thought and so he sliced off the other without a second thought. The voices remained. Tears welled from his eyes as he realised the act had not stopped them whispering questions in his mind. Without his ears, he didn’t hear the squelching as he bashed his fists against his head begging them to stop. He didn’t hear the fire alarm going off as the kitchen had caught alight. Eventually, the flames made their way and licked at him as he fell unconscious from the loss of his blood. His tears boiled away and now he knew what it felt like to be like the man who would’ve been a father.