Voices in my head

4 am - Eyes wide open, the sheep jump over fences. Parting the blanket I head towards the bathroom. Splash, the water droplets slide over my bumpy skin over hair follicles to finally land into the big wide ocean collected in the deep sink. Looking up, the mirror shows a person Im not sure is me. He looks skinny, some may even say emaciated. Outlines of orbital sockets and a strong jawline clearly marked. But what strikes me are his eyes. Darkness shadowing the blood spill. I turn away.


9am - I reach the hospital. Heading towards the Biometrics, I notice people staring, students, faculty, patients. Some greet me with the cursed Good morning Sir. The faculty laugh and smile as they walk away. Im sure they are all mocking me. Saying all sorts of stuff like my broken marriage, children long forsaken , property tiffs between brothers. A lavish buffet in waiting for their wagging tongues. Imbeciles them all.

I arrive at my office and place my coat on the chair. The climate will never be right to wear them even for official purposes. I sit there waiting and waiting. Seeing me idle, the voices come whispering poisonous nothings into my ears.

"Aren't you tired of this life? Day after day, you wake up like a bloody zombie and head over here to listen to peoples problems. Dont you have enough of your own?" says one of them. " Good thing your wife left you 'innit? She never really loved you, sleeping around with the neighbour boys or with her colleagues. She was a disgusting whore." "Oh common why fool yourself, it was you who drove away both your wife and sons with your addictions. Who can love a drunk man who beats his wife and abuses his kinds huh??"

A knock on the door brings me back. Its the nursing aid with a file at hand. Placing it on the table she leaves and I watch as her tight fitting dress accentuates her curves. Maybe...hmph I smirk.

The patient enters and his affect is cheerful. Too cheerful even. He talks excessively about things which make no sence. Some moron quack asked him to stop his meds. He might as well have told him to jump from the rooftop. I pull out my Montblanc, a gift from a good friend of mine and write out the prescription while explaining to them that he needs to take the pills for life and that Im the one who tells him when to stop and no one else.

Handing the prescription he holds my hand and kisses it in gratitude. I mutter a thankyou and head for the sink. One, two, three spurts of the soapy fluid and off starts the medically approved method of washing hands, purging every crease, every ridge and every depression. Turning the tap on, the water starts to flow, initially cold then hot. The heat scalds but I like that. I return to my seat, massaging my hands, now a rosy pink. 

8 pm - After the long drive back home, the sofa invites me to sink in. Glass in hand I sip the delicious whisky, imported. To finish off this pathetic excuse of a day, I draw out my credit card and use it to dice the fine powder. Once done, a small puff is all it takes and Im off....

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The Man who didnt Care

He stood there blankly as they lowered the coffin. "From dust to dust", a single phrase from the Bible always made him smile but he didnt know why. 

Middle of the lot, he was often ignored sometimes even forgotten. He's arrive at the dining table only to find people leaving it to wash their plates. "Go grab what's remaining Stuart" his mom would say. Tilting the pot for the last millie of soup,he'd clang it with the spoon hoping for somemore.

At school, he blended in. Standing in class, with arms stretched out, palms facing up. PHAT came the rubber scale to greet its waiting guest. He'd just stare at the lines. They were pointing upwards. A sign that good luck is sure to follow. And then he'd sit down, as if nothing ever happened.

College got out the best of him if thats what you could call it. He found similar people who just led their lives without a care. Their hair was jet black, long and fringed. Some even shot it with color. They dressed in black and met after school in each ones houses. 

After getting good grades he joined Medicine. He'd heard they needed people who didnt care over there. Bodies laid out for dissection, he neatly carved out each muscle, vein, artery and nerve as the cadaver stood still basking in the scent of formalin.

Years passed, he became an oncologist. Day after day, he'd sit in his office seeing heads shamefully covered in caps and bandanas. Eyes, weary after the radiation and hearts, eagerly beating to hear that nothing was wrong. He'd council them, they cried. His eyes just looked on.

One day he got a call. His patient had died and was requested to be at the funeral. Dressed in black, the mother delivered the eulogy. Final prayers said they lowered the box. He turned to leave. Not a single tear or heartfelt emotion, nothing, as he walked on.    
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