Voices

A sequel to Fits.

Fences crafted out of cheap, crude bamboos stood like imitation-ornaments along the dusty moon-burnt roads, guarding strips of black soil that bore clusters of malnourished saplings like uneven chest hair of an old man thinking of himself as an unusual child who has attained precocious puberty. Fences to protect a fistful of greenery from the herd, both human and cattle. To increase the green-ic beauty of the roads even the fences were painted green.

Splinters of green, born out of the muzzles of some automated science fiction-ed alien shotguns with infinite cartridge capacities and the ability to spit out those tiny quanta of hell as fast as the chronic blinking of the eyes of a person responding to some overwhelming temporary stimulus, shot across the place. Although fluorescent and illusory in appearance those splinters crept through the thin fabric and the bare skin of people and accentuated their collective hysteria of synchronised or desynchronised limb-manipulation and getting acquainted to strangers’ hides under the allowance of an unspoken treaty of overpriced fun.

The traffic lights turned green at the orthogonal signals. Sean was midway on the zebra crossing and the uncanny zephyr still irked him like mosquitoes hovering and buzzing around the ears. Music, that was, he believed but not the kind he needed right then.

The music stopped. A brief moment of superficial silence was crafted to overtly dramatise the wave of trance tsunami that was about to engulf the place, and also to let people catch their breaths. The girl ran to and fro between this bar and the bar opposite, impinging the sanctity of the eloquent moves of the crowd on the dance floor, with her lips sealed. ‘Truth or Dare?’ Dare, she had chosen. Now, she needed to fill the empty beer mug placed on this bar with the liquor she could carry in her mouth from the opposite bar.

Voice of the traffic police, voice of the hawker selling chewing tobacco, cigarettes and incense sticks, voice of the mother scolding her kid for throwing tantrums to get the balloon the other kid on vehicle next to them had, voice of the young girl with an infant in her arms begging for money, voice of the man shouting over his mobile asking the person on the other end to shout as well, voice of the old motorbike, voice of the dog limping it’s way to paradise; voices. The voice inside, ‘Voices’.

Voice of the man asking the bartender for a Screwdriver, another one asking for a Black Velvet, a woman asking for a Magarita, voice of the girl in blue stilettos describing how tired and cold she feels after coitus, voice of the boy passing lewd remarks at every girl he sees, voice of the girl talking softly to her boy, voice of the new watch, voice of the jerk getting off with steady hands exploring the female anatomy making his way to the restroom; voices. The voice inside, ‘Voices’.

Sean, in utter bafflement of the monstrosity of his ill-fate or snail-pace tripped. The man on the old motorbike hit him hard and shouted ‘Asshole!’ A myriad obscenity followed. The holes of Sean’s ears were violated so hard that his ears were cleansed. ‘Ah! Voices’, he sighed.  

The girl tripped amidst the madness of music, moves, booze and boots, her lips still sealed. Some complained, some didn’t bother. She emptied her mouthful (the little she could carry) of liquor in the mug. The glass overflowed. Her group of friends exclaimed in unison ‘Bitch! You did it.’ Her lips shone with the liquor-y lip gloss still positioned close to the edge of the overflowing mug. ‘Ah! Voices’, she sighed.

Sean got up and reached the other end of the road not bothering to get rid of the dust he had amassed from the generous road. He walked towards the door with the voices in mind. The doorkeeper stamped his arm. The door swung open.

The hand with the new watch tossed a lit matchstick at the overflowing glass of liquor. The liquor burned blue and so did her lips. She turned away and started moving, not bothering to put out the fire she had acquired from the generous people. She walked towards the door with the voices in her mind. She glanced at the stamp on her arm. The door was open.

Sean saw the blue amidst the black and green approaching the door.

The girl saw a silhouette walking in, not green, just black.

Sean held her and kissed her. The blue was lost. All that remained was green and a lot of black.

Sean made an effort to speak.

Before a sound could escape his mouth she resumed walking and as she went she said -

“Can’t talk. GN.”

n.b. - Not proofread. Please correct the errors in your mind.