FridayApr 10, 2026
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
There was too much noise. Sirens from police cars and ambulances. Shouts from the crowd on the street eighteen floors below. Traffic from other streets and all of the noises of San Francisco. Mostly, though, there were the voices. Whispering to him. Reminding him of the dark things he had done all of the little things he had forgotten, all of the big things he had tried to forget. Mostly they reminded him of his biggest secret, a betrayal of trust and friendship long ago. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could somehow keep the voices away.
It was a truly discomforting state. The world seemed distant, as though he were looking at it through smoky glass. Sounds were eerily muted, even those of the traffic outside and a cat in the alley under his window. His sense of touch was obscured as well, as if he were wearing oven mitts. He had difficulty remembering anything clearly. It was a little bit like being really, really drunk, with the room spinning around and a feeling like had stepped away from the world. Except that the dimness made it feel as if the world were trying to pull away from him. Everything but death and loss seemed uncertain. Death and loss were the only constants in his life.
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