2004-05-04 - 8:41 p.m.

***

Wanton

And that was that.

It wasn�t like the day was some torrent of never-ending memories. There were no flashes and definitely no signs from above. There was no warning and certainly no alarm, because everyday bullshit horsecrap days don�t count. They meld. They become a symbiotic week. �Last week was terrible man. Had to do this and had to do that. Terrible.� That is common conversation and it shows the importance to people of their everyday. Everyday is nothing.

And he drank coffee and he answered the phone. The door opened a few times, someone walked past. He ate a sandwich from a deli. The sun did its thing and the sky stayed blue because the clouds were gone. And no one gave a rat�s ass about any of it because it was today. It is the impervious dull roar of the sound of apathy that will silence any sound or movement from memory.

And he drank another coffee, answered the phone some more times. He even went outside and treated himself to a cigarette, watching the rows of cars drift slowly through intersections, crisscrossing in a web of concrete like a stone net to capture nature underneath and crush it. He blew out the smoke and watched the tangles of carcinogens wafting through the air like wisps of cotton. There were bugs in the air too, flying with birds and pollen. There were tons of things. Everywhere, there was a whole existence shooting out at all angles, moving at all speeds like some kind of visual orgy bursting with momentum, vibrant with the pulse of being.

And he went back inside. The roar swallowed it all whole in his mind.

You�re going to die.�

He perked his head up at that one. Confused, he swung around looking for the source, a source for this voice that seemed like it was crawling up his spine and into his brain. He could feel the footsteps of each letter as they stepped into his ear and his mind took control and heard

�You�re going to die.�

The receptionist looked up through her window and waved at him while she hammered away on her conversation with one of her friends. The girl was the 5th one that month and he knew from her practices right now she�d be the latest in a string of firings hundreds deep. She would be the last link on the chain of failure held by everyone to ever sit in that seat. It was like a joke in the office. If a new receptionist was hired, you knew that you would expect to see another take their place in just a few days and you�d be right. The ever changing same of a face. The face of the company.

But he didn�t care at all about this. He was more curious as to who just told him

�Are you listening?�

And now he freaked out. There was a moment he thought he had heard things but he knew he was right. He was hearing things and those things were telling him he was going to die. The receptionist looked at him through the window, a bit of puzzlement on her face but her mouth kept moving. The conversation still continued.

He tried going back to his desk, to reassess things. Voices are not beings. They do not wander about the place and confront you, telling you you�re going to die. Someone has to be speaking to him. Telepathy? Did everyone suddenly become super-evolved during his cigarette and he just

�No it�s not telepathy you stupid idiot. You�re dying.�

He crumpled up his reports and threw them at a wall, unable to react to a voice he couldn�t see.

�Who are you? Where are you? How are you talking to me?� The copy boy in the hallway peeked his head in to see what was going on, but the boy just saw him with his hands on his face, yelling into them.

�That�s a little rash considering I�ve only said three things to you.�

He became puzzled. Rash?

�Yes rash. Perhaps you�d prefer over the top? Exaggerated? Melodramatic?�

He took his face from his hands and blushed as he saw the confused face of the copy boy staring at him, trying to understand what was going on. He got up and smiled, then closed the door on the boy�s face, even while it still stared at him, perplexed.

�There there, you stupid fool. You�ve gone and confused an idiot copy boy.�

He looked to the windows. Somewhere out there, maybe close or maybe not, was a man looking in on him.

�I�m not outside at all in fact. You�re looking for me in the wrong direction.�

He swung his head around and frantically tried to find the right direction but only found that he was more confused. Somehow, this voice, which belonged to no one, could see him and see what he was doing. It could hear him talking to it. His pulse raised and sweat began to build all over his body as if he was wetting himself from every open pore.

�Calm down. Have a seat. This will only take a few minutes of your time.�

He began to walk towards his desk, looking for shadows in the corner to open up and reveal a stalker, waiting for his garbage can to rock back and forth and a small man would come out. He looked for the most ridiculous explanations as to what could be going on.

�Now that you�re paranoid as hell, I want you to make some phone calls.�

The door opened and he felt himself pee slightly on his leg in fear. He had never wet himself his entire life up until this moment and what better time to do it than when you�re about to die, especially if there is an invisible voice telling you so.

�Is everything alright in here,� Bob said. Bob was his boss and the idea of someone running around their office like a madman while talking to his self seemed like something a boss would want to investigate, especially after what the copy boy told him.

�Everything is fine.�

He waited to see if Bob would catch that. Someone has to hear that. Someone else besides him. He couldn�t be the only one who can hear the voice as it taunted him and ordered him around. And maybe, he could.

�Well ok then. Just making sure everything is fine here.� Bob looked to the ground despairingly and then stared him back in the eyes again. �You get some rest tonight when you go home, ok? I think you need it.�

�Sure thing Bob. I�ll do that.�

The door closed.

�Hell I�ll be dead in a few minutes anyway.�

He closed his eyes. He wasn�t alone. Bob heard it. Did the copy boy hear it? Did the receptionist hear it? Who else could hear the voice?

�Don�t you realize any person who isn�t completely fucking deaf could hear me?�

He opened his eyes. Now things were starting to go downhill and he could see that he had to play this cool. He did a head check, listing off what was going on to try and figure out what was happening so that he could fight against it. He was with a voice, the voice is talking to him and other people can hear the voice. He

�Oh there�s no fighting against it. You�re going to die and I�m killing you.�

He shut his eyes again. He knew that shutting his eyes would do no good but he didn�t want to see anything, just wanted to hear where the voice was coming from.

�I�m over here. And over here. And here too.�

Each time the voice seemed to dance around his shoulders, as if there were a moon spinning around his planet head that spoke to him, invisible. There was no explanation for this and he opened his eyes, ready to face the brutal truth: he had no idea what the fuck was going on.

�Good. You�ve finally learned something. You have no idea what the fuck is going on so I�m going to tell you what�s going on and then we�re going to call all of your loved ones and tell them you�re going to die.�

He started to tear up. He wasn�t particularly upset about dying or that he was going to call his loved ones and tell them he was going to die, even if he was potentially going to die in the end. He wasn�t upset that there was an invisible voice insulting him at every chance it could get, nor was he upset that the voice could see and hear him as well as know what he was thinking at all times. He was just upset because he had no way to explain it to himself so that he could understand it.

�Listen to me because you only have a few minutes left and I really would hate for you to miss this.�

�Ok.�

�Oh you stupid fucking idiot, I know what you�re thinking.�

He didn�t know you weren�t supposed to address a voice that everyone outside his door was probably listening to anyway. If his boss could hear it, everyone could.

�Just listen. I am a virus.�

He started to think about this for a little while before he heard the voice come back in.

�Yes a virus.�

He automatically became confused all over again, because despite being supposedly explain to about what was going on right now; he was apparently not getting it.

�How or why or what you might ask? Where you might ask? What do I do? What kind of virus?�

He began to sweat more and more, his heart beating wildly like the tongue of a bell beating its insides. There was no explanation for

�Shut the fuck up with your explanations. Oh god, you 'higher beings' with your reason and explanations. You know, an amoeba doesn�t need this much prep time for death? Even dogs go easy. You really need to just let things go sometimes. Not just you. All of you. Every one of you.�

He assumed that every one meant humans and he became afraid that he�d be the end of it all. He was the ground zero to the epidemic that would wipe out the world. He would end civilization and

�For your information, if that did happen, it would be my fault and not your own and besides, I don�t need to kill everyone. They will do that on their own eventually. I just was lucky enough to meet you. Stop glorifying your death. It will be one and only one. The ever changing same of a face.�

He sat silent and waited for more.

�Pick up the phone. Start to dial anyone you can think of.�

He wondered how a virus would know to do this. How would a virus

�Just pick up the fucking phone already! I�m giving you the last opportunity to let anyone in the world know you�re going to die and you use it to figure out how I�m giving you the last opportunity to let the fucking world know you�re going to die.�

He dialed his mother. The phone rang a few times and the wrinkled remains of what was his young mother�s voice shot through the phone as the voice of an old woman on a tape recorder.

�I�m sorry, I�m not here to answer the phone so if you�d please leave a message��

He went to hang up.

�You�re not going to leave a message?�

He picked the phone up to his ears again. The beep had already happened.

�Wouldn�t even leave a message to tell his mother he�s going to die.�

�Hello mom? It�s me, Ben. I � I just wanted to give you the message that I love you. I don�t know what�s going on lately but I just wanted to tell you that � I miss you and I wish I could see you one last time before everything is over and all. I really��

The tape clicked off. Somewhere, in the dark recesses of the headset, there was the fumbling of a phone was heard and someone trying to answer it.

�Ben? Are you ok?�

�Oh fine.�

�Fine.� He squirmed, wondering if his mother can hear him.

�Of course she can hear me!�

�What?�

�Nothing mom. It�s Ben.�

�She knows who it is, stupid.�

�I just wanted to say��

�Ben, are you alright?� His mother sounded worried through the phone, where you can see it in their tone without seeing them.

�No, I�m fine. I just wanted to let you know I love you. And I don�t know��

�You were saying something about everything being over. Are you afraid of something? Is someone after you? Are you in trouble?� Each question sounded like she was gripping the phone tighter and tighter. Worry became anxiety.

�No mom, everything is fine. I just wanted to tell you I love you.�

�And that I�m going to die.�

The phone was silent still. His face was still.

�What?�

Nothing.

�Nothing, no I just wanted to say�

�that I�m going to die and I have a few minutes left. Goodbye.�

He hung up the phone as his mother was trying desperately to understand what was going on. He could hear the squabbles of unintelligible questions being fired for 2 brief seconds as he laid the receiver on the hook and the call died.

And that was that.

He sat there dumbfounded. Something terrible was going to happen to him and his mother knew about it now. And his father, sitting probably right next to her, would immediately find out.

�Good. Two birds with one stone. You�re done, seeing as there is nothing else here for you.�

He started to cry again. He knew that this was the truth. The only two people in the world that would care if he was dead were just notified he would be dead soon by the help of an invisible voice. Everything was falling to pieces around him and he couldn�t hold on much longer. He even felt sick, knowing that he had a virus killing him inside.

�Let�s get this over with, shall we?�

He wondered what he actually had to do.

�Nothing really. You just sit there and I�ll kill you. I�m doing it right now. I�m actually swallowing up your memory as we speak. Everything you knew is going and I�m eating it up. Your kidneys are being eaten away as well. So is your liver. In fact pretty soon, you�ll feel pretty nauseous. That�s all the toxins collecting in your stomach. You�ll probably vomit on yourself and maybe crap your pants.�

He started to hear gurgling noises, knowing that he�s been promised to die by the invisible voice and now it would happen.

�And stop calling me invisible. Honestly. I can�t believe you don�t know who this is.�

He froze. He never knew a virus personally before in his life.

�No you idiot. Whose voice this is.�

He stopped to think about this. Who was that? Did he know him?

�Go look out your window.�

He turned and looked but found nothing. The blue sky. The no clouds. The birds and bugs. The pollen. The cars all drove slowly. The existence kept booming but he found nothing. There was nothing out there.

�Or rather.�

His lips moved.

�Go look in your window.�

He watched his own lips move. He watched the words pull the lips taut, shape them to the curvature of each syllable as his tongue wagged and smacked against the top of his mouth then vanished as if it were shy of an L. The tightness of a W. The hollow O. It was as if he was talking to himself.

�Good. Now you understand. Humans. You have all of the reason in the world. All of the secrets the world would ever need for protection and you need these pieces of meat to get it all out.�

He spun to this desk in frenzy. His hands jolted for a pen and began frantically pacing across paper. He rushed across the page and when he was done, it said "Or relies on your monkey little digits to provide the��

He didn�t read the

�..rest.�

He began to close his eyes again. Not to hide from anything, not to hear anything. Because they were boiling.

�You had reason the whole time and you couldn�t even implement any of it at all. I�ve even had to talk to you through your own voice because you can�t use, is that word telepathy? I'm speaking to you with your own voice into your own ears.�

He felt confused and dizzy, as if the world was spinning. His stomach heaved and he vomited a bright red splash on his desk.

�No matter. Someone�s bound to find this mess and they�ll eventually clean it up. I�ll be there and you�ll be dead. Those are your kidneys. That�s what they look like after all of the iron has been sucked out of them.�

He fell to the floor. Struggling, he looked out of the window to try and get one last glimpse of the world, but he couldn�t even bring himself to his knees and instead saw the hum of 120 watts blasting through two tubes of cancerous waste spinning around in circles on the waves of light. The light expanded and soon, everything was washed white.

�How�.how did you get in me?�

�Who cares? I�m done with you.�

His heart stopped.

And that was that.

BMC

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