“The thing nobody warns you of is that if you are a writer, if you stop writing then something begins to writhe, to leach venom into your bloodstream. It starts in the mind, in the basket of your imagination and it’s poisonous tendrils begin to reach for your heart. If it grasps you there, then something terrible will surely happen. It’s your own damn fault, but regardless, you can’t let the beast be free. Write, write anything – no matter what it is, type out the god damn cookbook if you must, but don’t let it be free to feast its horror on the world.” ~ tlj
There was certainly no part of him that wanted to be at the dinner party that night. Or any other, in fact. He was there only because she wanted to be, he would thus side step the accusation of being anti-social, boorish, only wishing to write in his study, to be left alone.
The others there were so pretty, handsome all of them in their dresses, sports coats, wine glasses held in their hands. He imagined them grinning broadly, each carrying a wicked looking straight dagger, rather than a crystal wineglass. It was his wife’s company gathering, he was but the sidekick, the one there to complete the image of the happy corporate couple. He didn’t have a wine glass in his hand, prefering to spare himself that liquid accesory until he could return to his whiskey glass in the silence of his study.
They moved with slow precision through the room, chatting loosely, without really engaging interest with anyone. At some point during the measured conversations, he began to drift into an empty room, one where no other party goer was present, deep in the recesses of his own mind. His stories began to find him there, to dance with the fringes of his imagination, rapid nerve impulses went out from their neuron masters to his fingers with instructions to write. Denied they were, but the impulses came to them nonetheless. At some point his wife tugged at his shirtsleeve, directing him to focus on the commanding looking CEO, there in the small group semi-circled around them. His wife glanced hard at him, her look messaging that he needed to say something warm, witty, at the least courteous to the man. The CEO flashed a practiced grin, his words came calmly, winsomely in a sing-song tone, “So, tell me how you met your lovely bride.”
It was only a simple question, he could have easily answered it, smiled and moved on. His throat quivered, a mournful sound began to rise from the pit of his chest, a low moan growing suddenly, sharply into a high pitched wail. Then in an instant, the wail amplified into a horrifying sonic battering ram emanating from his mouth. He watched helplessly, as the sound struck the handsome CEO mid-chest with such force that it sheared his torso away from the rest of his body like a golf ball struck away from the pin. The man toppled backwards loosely, his body torn asunder.
The sound solidified now into a terrible cutting weapon, unbidden it sliced a half dozen people apart as he shook his head maddeningly from side to side to rid himself of it. Now walls, floors began to collapse amidst the screams of terror, people throwing themselves, eardrums burst in their heads, out of the maelstrom of destruction. He watched helplessly as a woman in a blue cocktail dress threw herself over the balcony, bouncing off the pavement below like some child’s rag doll.
Everywhere he looked now were massive plumes of dust, ash, fire and death. Wholesale destruction. The sound coming from his mouth then became the end of all things, as he witnessed it burn into the Earth’s core, felt the Earth heave like a wild, drunken thing trying to buck him off its skin, before splitting into pieces, exploding in a mammoth concussive wave.
After what felt to be an eternity of silence, he opened his eyes, taking in the vast expanse of space around him. The world, his home, everything and everyone was gone. Atomized, vaporized by the violent heat of his anger. His anger towards her. If anyone had been left alive then he would have explained it to them. Why had he never just told her the truth? There would be no explaining now. He hung there, alone in the vacuum of space, the empty, airless void that had extinguished his furious voice. Closing his eyes again, he floated alone in the icy cold, awaiting eternity.
A noise sprang into the void. He blinked hard, opened his eyes to the light of his own front porch. His wife fumbled noisily with the keys, opened the front door then said to him, “Why the hell didn’t you answer my boss? You just stared at him. What kind of dumb ass thing were you thinking? God, that was embarrassing.”
Her voice faded again into the void. The dark void that owned him, swallowing him and the voice of fear, of anger that would not be heard.