Silence

  How do you find concentration to do something you would rather not do? I was always horrible with things like that, especially when I wanted to be anywhere else than stuck behind a desk while even the smallest of sounds gnawing at my brain could violently tear me back into reality.

  I try to place my fingers on the keyboard once again, but it’s of little use. No words come to me, and the only thing I can concentrate on is the sound of shoes tapping lightly against laminated floor, a loud occasional rumbling coming from somewhere outside the building and the occasional chatter going on around me. I arch backwards as I tug my hair in a painful frustration, knowing full and well that abandoning my post will do me no good. The sounds around me seem to merge, a constant buzzing in the back of the head that will not cease. Like angry wasps taking up residence inside me while breeding faster than thought possible to add to the annoyance. The worst part is that I have not even been here for one hour. It’s going to be a long day.

  Somehow I manage to finish my work on time. It is definitely not among my finest of works I have done, but I am more interested in leaving the vicinity than sucking up to the fat bastard of a boss that employed me. Ironically enough, just as I quickly pack up my things, said boss appears behind me, obviously wanting a nice little conversation, ruining this already fucked up day even more. 
  “Anthony, I have to talk with you,” he says to me. I stare absent-mindedly at his face while I try to make out his words among the sludgepit of disturbing sounds that increased in volume for every passing minute.
  “Are you alright?”
  “Yes,” I say and shook my head rapidly in a futile attempt to regain my focus. He seemed temporarily taken aback by the lack of honorifics, but I don’t care. I just want my day to end.  “What is it?”
  “I know this is sudden, but you have to stay for a few more hours. A new case has come in and I want our very best on it.”
  The very best. As usual, he uses sweetening words when asking for impossible favors. I feel the buzzing building up tension inside me, a force that wants to escape. I find it hard to hold it in.
  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I mumble as I try to make a quick escape before things get out of hand. It feels like the walls are moving in on me. I have to get out before I am crushed.
  “You’re not going anywhere,” my boss says he places a firm and flabby hand on shoulder, effectively halting my movement. The bees inside me roam around aggressively, as if trying to make me lose control. And just like that I let them do it. Before I am able to restrain myself I turn around, bringing with me a clenched fist that crashes into the side of his skull. He falls to the floor, unconscious , a small stream of blood trickling out his nose. People around me get up from their seats, rushing over to cease the struggle and aid their employer. I quickly escape the scene, making a dash for the front door. I leave my things behind. I don’t care about anything anymore. The buzzing is still there. I can hear the people talk. Whisper. Their words reach me, adding to the noise. The fury is still present, urging me to release an uncontrollable wrath upon the unsuspecting and wretched world. What is wrong with me?

  I finally reach the street, the magnificent sky presenting itself to me in all its glory. It’s a beautiful and warm summer day, one that is normally relaxing to the human mind. But not mine. The sight is ruined by the sounds around me, mercilessly violating my ears. Busses, trams, wheels against dry asphalt, people whispering, talking, laughing, shouting, crying, walking aimlessly around. Hate, hate, hate.
  A few people turn their heads in my directions as I claw at my open mouth and stomp around in frustration. Once again I hear the thud from somewhere in the distance, behind rows upon rows of similar-looking apartment blocks, the deep sound like a venomous snake lashing at me. The sound stayed there in my mind, forever repeating, never wanting to cease. My eyes are out of focus. I am restless, the sounds slowly driving me mad. I have to do something. Go somewhere. But I don’t know where or what.

  Suddenly, a bus pulls up near me. People walk off. People walk on. I know where I have to go. Silence. I need Silence. I quickly jump on the bus as the doors close behind me. I am standing in front. I spot an empty seat near the back. I start walking, feeling like a prisoner on death row.
  Some of the blank and mindless stares turn my way, their judging gazes adds weight to my already heavy footsteps. Empty seat. I fall into it. The bus is already moving, occasionally shaking, accompanied by the endless chatter about trivial matters. I am sick of it. Sick and tired.
  I huddle up in my seat in a futile attempt to shut the world out. I start sweating, my emotions completely jumbled. I am frightened of losing controlled. And I am angry at just about everything around me. I start breathing hard. The hate is overwhelming now, and I am afraid of what it could make me do. Afraid of myself. The bees demand blood, the buzzing almost so loud it shuts all other sounds out. But only almost.

  Time passes. The bus stops to let more blank stares on. I let my eyes travel to the back entrance, where a man with skin black as coal enters, seemingly absorbed in the loud music pumping into his ears. Great, a fucking nigger. Just what I need. Or so I find myself thinking. Was his music always this loud? It is like he is sitting right next to me with speakers on. Is he turning up the volume deliberately? Is he trying to piss people off? The heavy beats is like saw blades: cutting, ripping, slicing. But the bees thrive on it, buzzing in harmony with the beats.
  “Can you please turn down the fucking music?” a man suddenly yells at the top of his lungs. Good. So I’m not alone with my annoyance. Absolutely terrific. I dare a look at the black man to see if he took the hint, but to my surprise I find he is already looking straight at me. And he is not the only one. The bus is silent now, save for some mumbling and whispering. Most of them are looking straight at me, as if it was I who had spoken up. A coldness spreads through me, an ever-present chill that grabs firmly at my spine. The voice? Was it me? Yes. Yes, it was. It was me. They are still staring. Still judging. The bus stops. I don’t care where I am. I quickly brush past the blank gazes and slip out the door.

  The sun blinds my vision, the warmth against my sweaty skin prickling and uncomfortable. The bus quickly departs, speeding out of sight as if in a hurry to widen the distance between us. I look around, finding myself in a street I am familiar with, only a short walk away from my destination. But I am in no mood for walking. I am restless. I start jogging. Slowly. Then faster. I break out in a sprint. My legs carry me faster and faster. Faster than I have ever ran, and I never stop to look back. Almost there.

  The streets here are just as crowded, but I ignore them, willing all of my focus on the destination instead. I turn another corner and I finally see it. I run, never stopping before I actually touch its walls. The large building’s golden doors gently slide open as if to welcome me, and only me, into its fold. I smile. The bees are calmer now. Perhaps they sense what is to come. The doors slam shut behind me. I still hear the sounds outside. Not enough.
  “Welcome to the Silence Center, Sir. Do yo-“ the receptionist says before she recognizes me. And it is only natural, considering how many times I have been here. All of the employers here know very well who I am.
  “I would like... the usual, please,” I cut in before she continues as I try to catch my breath, sweat trickling down my skin in large streams. The woman turns to a computer, instantly knowing what I am after. She frowns. I don’t like frowns.
  “I’m terribly sorry, but none of the standard rooms are available. But we have plenty of group rooms you can join, as well as a few single suites.”
  No way in hell do I ever want to listen to someone breathing into my ear. But then again, suites are terribly expensive. My wife will kill me. But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now I need this.
  “Fine. Give me the suite,” I finally say, admitting defeat.

  The key gently slides into the lock, a perfect fit. I turn, and a metallic click tells me the door marked “Suite 13” is now unlocked for me. Finally. I firmly grip the handle and pull it down.
  I enter the room, and I can instantly feel the silence. I hurry and close the door behind me. Silence. Not a single sound. The room itself is nothing to brag about, actually. The tiles that cover all walls are a boring white, and there is nothing in it save for a lamp in the ceiling giving off a faint light pleasing to the eye and a very comfortable-looking couch in the back. But I am not here for the furniture, or the light. I am here for the silence.
  I slump down into the coach and take in the sounds – or more correctly the lack thereof. At first it was an almost uncomfortable experience. But not now. Now I feel happy again. Free of worries. Nothing but me and the silence. What a wonderful world I live in! How wonderful it is to be alive! Even the bees have completely silenced!

  It took me some time to calm down. I know it is getting worse. My condition. I used to be able to fight it, but ever since the beginning it has gradually become worse. The bees are getting more furious for every day that passes. But I have come to the realization that there is no one else to blame for this than myself. I am addicted. Addicted to silence. I chuckle at the idea before I close my eyes and drift back into sleep.