house on street

The Voices of Passing Traffic

The Voices of Passing Traffic

John D Robinson

He was aware of the low tone hum of passing traffic before he had opened his eyes, this was not unusual within itself; but this morning, for Morgan Mercer, the ordinarily soft noise of the passing vehicles seemed to have taken on a far more serious, sinister tone. He lay still, quiet, breathing hard and heavy.

“Morgan! Morgan! Time is getting on; you’ll going to be late! I’ll see you later darling, bye!” cried Sophia, Morgan’s wife. A few moments later she left the house to make her way to work.

After hearing the door slam shut and his wife’s footsteps fade into nothingness as she walked away, he gingerly slid out of bed and crawled on his hands and knees to the bedroom window; for several long minutes he remained crouched beneath the window like a frightened and wounded animal. The voices of his thoughts began to taunt him, daring him to stand up and look out of the window; the voices were heavy, fast and unfamiliar. Briefly he managed to calm his mind and began silently questioning himself; what on earth was going on here? What was happening to me? The intensely deep feeling of fear was quite ridiculous and it could not be reasoned in any shape or form.

The voices of his thoughts returned louder, more aggressive and darker.
Quite suddenly, there entered into his fearfulness, two additional voices that had drifted in from the outside. Morgan recognized the voices to be those of his neighbours; Gareth and Joey, he could not hear their words but he was utterly convinced that their words were malicious and directed towards him. He clenched his jaws and his fists and closed his eyes briefly and listened intently to the rough, distorted accusing voices of his usually friendly neighbours.

Soon the outside voices moved away and it came as a great relief; Morgan raised his gaze from the floor and darted a look over at the small alarm clock upon the bedside cabinet; 09.20, he was already twenty minutes late for work.

WORK! WORK! WORK! His thoughts screamed at him WORK! WORK! WORK!
He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head vigorously for a short while as if to rid himself of the inner torment; he opened his eyes and stared over at the alarm clock and began smiling, it was an awkward, frightened smile.

The intensity of the passing traffic had reduced greatly and he could hear no outside voices; his thoughts were still and calm, his breathing eased up and he raised himself upright and looked out of the window.

Morgan staggered backwards as he looked out into an unfamiliar landscape.
A searing silent scream became lodged in his throat; he turned away from the window and walked the few yards over to a full length bedroom mirror. A strange gasping sound left his mouth as he looked at his reflection; a ten year old Morgan, dressed in a school uniform, stared back at him.

He stepped back over to the window and looked out across a landscape that he now recognized as familiar and comforting. He let go a heavy sigh and returned to the full length mirror; this time there came no reflection, nothing at all.

Morgan collapsed onto the bed and the voices of his thoughts began laughing louder and louder and louder.

John D Robinson was born in the UK in 1963. He began working aged 15 and continues to do so; he began writing poetry at the age of 16 and published first poem a year later; many of his poems have appeared in the small press, most recently in Bareback Lit, Red Fez, Dead Snakes, The Kitchen Poet, The Commonline Journal, Pulsar, Poet & Geek, The Chicago Record, The Clockwise Cat and upcoming poems appearing in Poetic Diversity, Your One Phone Call, Message In A Bottle. His short fiction has appeared in Jotters United and upcoming short story appearing in a future publication of Horror, Sleaze and Trash. He is married with one daughter, two grandchildren, four cats, one dog, and he likes to drink wine and daydream.

Read this story by John in the November 2015 Point of View 

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