If you haven’t noticed I’ve decided to start doing everything in a series-type format. It will hopefully help me stay active or organized… or regular. Anyway, here’s the first of a series that I’ve named “Sounds of Dread,” which should be pretty self explanatory.
Fortified Heels on Marble
I heard this sound the other morning while getting off the train. It’s a little hard to explain through just words but if you’ve heard it before then you’ll understand the massive throat bubble that pops up out of my stomach every time I hear it. Imagine the clop clop clop of a school administrator just outside your middle school classroom. In the back of your mind you’re hoping that the sound is only getting louder because she’s passing by, perhaps delivering a letter to a teacher on your floor – maybe news of a death in the family, a preferable fate to the verbal lashing you know you’re in for.
But you know it’s not going to happen. You thought it would be a good idea to shave off Steve’s eyebrows against his will and now you know that those clanging footsteps are for you.
Clip Clop Clip Clop
Your stomach is now housed right below your jaw and it’s doing somersaults that would get it on the US Olympic team. Your sweaty palm has smudged the rude caricature of your substitute Math teacher you drew earlier that day. Now she’s not only fat and warty but also fading into a blur; the mirror image of her grotesque penned goiter having been transferred from desk to hand to forehead.
Clip Clop clip clop clip clop
Silence. She’s outside your door. You can feel your lunch of stripple steak on hot dog bun turning to pure bile in your gut, there will be no happy rec hour for you today, no game of dodge ball pelting the slower fat kids. No, there will only be the cold chatter of a school office and nausea inducing patterened rugs.
This sound haunts my dreams, but I’m sure not nearly as much as me and my disposable razor haunted Steve’s.