Contraudacious

The dull hum of the LED lights above me fill the silent void in the room. Though, the silent void in the room was never silent. My thoughts filled them. They are never-ending.

I never understood how people went for a run to “Clear their head.” I thought it was hyperbole; surely, your head couldn’t be clear. The internal monologue of their voices don't just shut down…do they?

The hum becomes louder and louder as I try to put my focus into writing. Writing in my journal is supposed to help. It’s supposed to take this constant stream of consciousness and put it onto the page. So it can live elsewhere. But my thoughts are at war with this incessant high pitch scream.

I place my headphones in. I press play on the score of Interstellar; A better form of consistent sound than whatever is going on above me.n

Still in my soul, I hear it. Maybe I don’t hear it. But I do. I know it’s there.

I feel sweat drip down the side of my body as I pick up my pencil once again. My shirt is too loose to absorb it. I don’t like tight-fitting clothing.

My pencil screeches along the paper; graphite pulling at the loose pulp.

I let the pencil slip out of my moist hand, toss my headphones aside, and run to the light switch.

This newfound darkness is ever consuming.

And I feel at peace.

Until I hear the car door slam outside.