Scraps & Chum Read Online Free Page B
Author: Ryan C. Thomas
air, thinking what a hard li fe it must be to not hear. T hen remembered I was carrying my booze. As I turned toward home, I noticed that none of them were wearing earplugs.
IV
By morning the sound was unbearable. If I closed my eyes I envisioned someone standing right next to me scraping a fork on a ceramic plate. My neighbors began congregating in the street, staring at the sky and shakin g their heads. A few of them wore earmuffs , while others had hats pulled over their ears. Surprisingly, no dogs or cats seemed to be in any discomfort. The pug nestled in my neighbor ’ s panicked arms was as happy and excited as he was any other day.
I had given up on writing or looking for a new job and focused solely on alleviating my ever present headache ; even with my earplugs in and my mind succumbed to the alcohol, the sound was too intense to ignore . It seemed to radiate from thin air, which explained the people in the street staring at the sky. Only by getting drunk had I been able to ignore the noise and fall asleep the previous night, but when I woke up it was right there again, everywhere and nowhere at once. Incredibly piercing. I felt lucky to have gotten the little sleep I did. The black circles under my neighbors ’ eyes to ld me they were not so lucky.
“ Time to get the hell out of Dodge. ” I looked for my car keys, trying to decide between heading to my parents ’ house up North or going out West to the beaches. Then I remembered the news and realized I might not be able to get away from this maddening sound.
The television was still reporting on the phenomenon on every channel, tired reporters pointing toward space and shaking their heads. Images from the Middle East and Africa and every other place imaginable showed similar scenes of confused and terrified people yelling at the sky. Everybody on Earth seemed to b e experiencing the same thing.
It was evident the electric company had nothing to do with it now. Experts from the world ’ s top research centers were meeting with the world ’ s leaders, or so the news reported. At some point during the day, someone had drawn up a sign and placed it on the side of the road near my home. It r ead: THE END IS HERE BEOTCHES!
I became scared.
I had no idea where I ’ d put my keys.
V
Oh my fucking God! Unbearable!
The sound suddenly soared to such an unearthly high decibel level around noon that s mall cracks stitched down my window panes. The walls vibrated. I pressed my hands over my earplugs and ground my teeth, sweating and swearing. It was all I could do to maintain rational thought. An hour later the world ’ s leaders declared a state of emergency. How they had the strength to make decisions was incredible. The news reporters, in some mockery of standing in a soundwave hurricane, winced in pain and shook their heads as they reported, barley getting words out. All flights were stopped, schools were closed and kids were sent home, work ceased, the National Guard rolled in to w atch the State House, the nation ’ s military sc attered around D.C., FEMA mobilized in every major city. It did no good; no one could withstand the noise. Everyone was useless. Car accidents were clogging up the roads. Lunatics were firing off guns.
I was sitting at my computer marveling at the terrifying news online , fin gers in my ears, teeth clenched as the whine—now a raging siren—raked my mind, when I noticed one of my neig hbors in the street fall over.
So loud and so high-pitched was the noise at that point, a thousand fingernails scraping a thousand chalkboards would not have come close to the agonizing frequency it put forth. My hairs stood on end and my eyes watered. I could not focus for too long on any one thing before the screaming siren sent my vision wobbling.
And then, it rose again.
“ Jesus Christ, ” I shouted as I stumble d to my window, “ it ’ s killing me ! Oh , God, make it stop! What ’ s happening ! ”
My
IV
By morning the sound was unbearable. If I closed my eyes I envisioned someone standing right next to me scraping a fork on a ceramic plate. My neighbors began congregating in the street, staring at the sky and shakin g their heads. A few of them wore earmuffs , while others had hats pulled over their ears. Surprisingly, no dogs or cats seemed to be in any discomfort. The pug nestled in my neighbor ’ s panicked arms was as happy and excited as he was any other day.
I had given up on writing or looking for a new job and focused solely on alleviating my ever present headache ; even with my earplugs in and my mind succumbed to the alcohol, the sound was too intense to ignore . It seemed to radiate from thin air, which explained the people in the street staring at the sky. Only by getting drunk had I been able to ignore the noise and fall asleep the previous night, but when I woke up it was right there again, everywhere and nowhere at once. Incredibly piercing. I felt lucky to have gotten the little sleep I did. The black circles under my neighbors ’ eyes to ld me they were not so lucky.
“ Time to get the hell out of Dodge. ” I looked for my car keys, trying to decide between heading to my parents ’ house up North or going out West to the beaches. Then I remembered the news and realized I might not be able to get away from this maddening sound.
The television was still reporting on the phenomenon on every channel, tired reporters pointing toward space and shaking their heads. Images from the Middle East and Africa and every other place imaginable showed similar scenes of confused and terrified people yelling at the sky. Everybody on Earth seemed to b e experiencing the same thing.
It was evident the electric company had nothing to do with it now. Experts from the world ’ s top research centers were meeting with the world ’ s leaders, or so the news reported. At some point during the day, someone had drawn up a sign and placed it on the side of the road near my home. It r ead: THE END IS HERE BEOTCHES!
I became scared.
I had no idea where I ’ d put my keys.
V
Oh my fucking God! Unbearable!
The sound suddenly soared to such an unearthly high decibel level around noon that s mall cracks stitched down my window panes. The walls vibrated. I pressed my hands over my earplugs and ground my teeth, sweating and swearing. It was all I could do to maintain rational thought. An hour later the world ’ s leaders declared a state of emergency. How they had the strength to make decisions was incredible. The news reporters, in some mockery of standing in a soundwave hurricane, winced in pain and shook their heads as they reported, barley getting words out. All flights were stopped, schools were closed and kids were sent home, work ceased, the National Guard rolled in to w atch the State House, the nation ’ s military sc attered around D.C., FEMA mobilized in every major city. It did no good; no one could withstand the noise. Everyone was useless. Car accidents were clogging up the roads. Lunatics were firing off guns.
I was sitting at my computer marveling at the terrifying news online , fin gers in my ears, teeth clenched as the whine—now a raging siren—raked my mind, when I noticed one of my neig hbors in the street fall over.
So loud and so high-pitched was the noise at that point, a thousand fingernails scraping a thousand chalkboards would not have come close to the agonizing frequency it put forth. My hairs stood on end and my eyes watered. I could not focus for too long on any one thing before the screaming siren sent my vision wobbling.
And then, it rose again.
“ Jesus Christ, ” I shouted as I stumble d to my window, “ it ’ s killing me ! Oh , God, make it stop! What ’ s happening ! ”
My
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