The Absence of Sound

November 17, 2010
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Shadows creep over the shallowest parts of my essence in the lightest of day. I am not sick, I do not have cobwebs rusting over the innards of my psyche. No, I am clean, vigilant- alert even in the darkest of days. Is it not inspiration that makes the superlative of people gain the greatest reward- an atmosphere that makes them happy? And so, I am merely a woman who does what everyone else wishes they had the nerve to do- I see a problem in my life and I take every action- no precautions- but all I can do to expunge that bother from existence. So that I can live the most excellent life. I do not compromise. It is not insane to get rid of those who irritate you. It does not make me crazy. Passionate, maybe. I do not find myself sadistic- only determined. And sometimes, determination brings out the best, or worst, in a human. Is a pet peeve able to bother others to such an extreme that they find their hands tightened around the culprits neck? Do others get an overwhelming urge to bite ones nose off, squeeze their nails into ones skin so hard? Ha! Like a human stress ball. And only to mitigate the pressure built up from the sounds they make? I do. And I succumb to my desires. I follow every urge I am blessed with.

I wasn't always this way-When I was younger, the pressure from every unrelieved urge, every noise that made me twitch- it would build up to a point where I would scream. Fire would blind my eyes as I lay on the ground and convulse, clenching my teeth. This wasn't efficient, though- this didn't solve my problem- the people that caused my pain were still present and living. It became apparent that nobody believed that I needed help, even my family refused to admit I was different. So, after a long period of time in which I pleaded for help, I took the easy way out. My hands turned into nooses, my nails knifes, and my teeth axes. So what is my inspiration? Maybe the painful nerves that contracted my spine when my father talked too loudly behind me. I took care of him. Maybe the unexplainable knives I felt shred my brain and ears when people chewed, however politely. Is it my hearing- is it super sensitive? I do not know. But when a noise or action irritates me, uncontrollably, I become something else. The disgusting racket people make- they are my drive for when I unleash my wrath on them. They are my inspiration when I bite into their skin and clench my hands stiff around whichever part of the person is most available. I squeeze every muscle in me when I kill, to get rid of the pain and convulsing. I am as loud as can be, so I cannot hear the little, tedious noises of their blood rushing out of their disgusting little bodies, and their breath quickening, slowing down, and coming to a complete stop.

It began with a friend. When it became evident to her what bothered me, she would joke around about it, tease me once in a while. I liked her, I really did- she was a good friend. But one day she took it too far, I remember it clearly. She held a chip, and, leaning in closely to my ear so that I could feel her warm breath on my neck, she crunched down on it. She put it into her mouth and slowly, loudly, she crunched down on the chip and swished spit around in her mouth. Every little detail, I could hear so clearly that I could almost see it. Tension ran up and down my spine, so I clenched my teeth and hummed as an effort to block out the horrific noise. I warned her. I did, and I began to shake my head back and forth as if banging my head would make the noises fall back out of my ears. But my poor friend didn't realize how serious I was, and my hands, in one, quick movement, sprang up and crushed her jaws together, squishing them there tightly. My every muscle contributed to the killing of my dear friend. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was done with, over. I felt strangely untouched by any emotion. The pain had been erased, the chewing had stopped. And that was all that mattered.

I feel a extraordinary sense of therapy when I get rid of those who were a nuisance to me. I became addicted, and whenever somebody did something my ears didn’t agree with, my hands and teeth took control. First destroyed was my father, then my mother and sister and everyone who pushed past my limits.

It is today that I realize they are all gone. When did this happen? I didn't want to kill all of these people, I loved them- I only hated the awful sounds. A thought comes to me now- Why did I not just have my hearing impaired? Well, then I would not be able to have all the beautiful sounds in life, music, nature… my thoughts would overwhelm me. But now I sit alone, in a ghost town that used to be bustling with people- and I am so happy. All of my problems are gone. The absence of people makes me realize how better life is with the absence of my 'pet peeves'. A wide smile then brightens up my face like sunshine, and I laugh aloud. I laugh hysterically, rolling on the floor and dancing around the streets as I listen to the wonderful silence. All day, I am so pleased with the fact that my problem is solved. I sit down in my empty house, at my empty dinner table, to a meal- a feast in which I do not have to stand the sound of others at the table. And then, I take a bite. Another. I take a bite and wince at the sound of the metal of my fork accidently clanking against my teeth. I bite, still jovial, and then start to chew.

The overpowering silence around me amplifies the sound of my own chewing, my own disgusting, humanly noises. I start to hum as I chew my meal, and then, at a loss of what to do, I begin to tap my fingers hard against the edge of the table, hard, an attempt to overawe the sound of myself chewing. I begin to nod my head, up and down, until I am in a constant rhythm of humming, tapping, nodding. The vein on my neck sticks out, purple, as I hum louder and louder to block out my chewing and swallowing. Soon I am groaning and screaming, looking around me and hitting my hands angrily against my skull. The sound of myself chewing makes me so nauseas, and I begin to clench my muscles, and pull hard on my long hair. My hands slide, much beyond my control, down to the thin of my neck- my hands know the routine- "kill the culprit". "No, please!" I scream misshapen words in a vain last effort to drown out the sounds of myself, and to drown out the excruciating silence. I bite my lip until blood drips down my chin, and I wring a rope around my neck so tightly that my face turns a bright shade of red, and, my scalp bleeding, I fall to the floor, unconscious. I breathe my last disgusting breath, there shriveled on the floor like a wilted rose, and expire on the dark wood of my dining room floor.

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