Silent Voices

Words.

Voices. 

Yelling at him. Constantly pushing at his thoughts with their hubbub of noise. Telling him, advising him with their hushed tones, as if whispering so only he could hear. 

Lucian opened the door to his apartment, immediately wrinkling his nose at the smell. He didn't bother hiding his disgust from controlling his face as his eyes speedily shifted from the cramped space, the new stain on the couch, grease on the previously white walls, the growing pile of dirty dishes that sprouted from the sink like some irremovable noxious weed. 

His eyes drifted to the ever-present leak from the ceiling. 

The thoughts came again. Louder this time. Crowding his mind more and more. Why wouldn't they stop! Why couldn't he get them to stop-he breathed in, then out. 

In and out, in and out…

In and…

Lucian gave up on the charade. His doctor and their medications, his therapist with the supposed harmful behaviors. All of the high-brow parlance they stuffed down his throat, talk of “getting better” and the all-time favorite, “Improvement”. 

Improvement would mean he didn't have to live with these… things, anymore. He smirked. His therapist always retorted with some moral ideology whenever he described people as that. As things. 

Bently swayed into view, using the kitchen counter to support his girth, a litany of stains spotting his white tank top which had given up on all hope of capturing his paunch and hairy belly, “Ouh, thank err, dishes… too messy-something for someone o’er!” 

He imitated a basketball player as he threw the not-so-empty beer can at the garbage can.

It bounced off of the closed lid, spraying the amber-colored liquid all over the wall. Leaving trails as it trickled down in little streams, slightly pooling when it reached the floor…

Lucian’s eyes wandered to the stack of dishes. 

Bently slurred his words beyond comprehension, his movements sluggish and wild as he grew more animated. 

There was a knife. 

He left the door open as he walked out into the warm night air. Bently might have said something, not that he cared, he was glad he couldn't hear anything as he briskly walked down the metal staircase leading down to the open parking lot. 

Lucian set off in the night, the quiet atmosphere did well to silence the voices.

Mostly. 

He walked, the city bright and alive despite the late hour. Cars roved the streets, the headlights almost blinding as they turned corners. A honk every now and again accompanied with a string of well practiced swears. 

Where were the people? He saw them as they walked past him, but they didn't seem… Lucian rolled his neck, as he approached a bus stop. It was bustling.

It was empty. The conversation dull, the same conversations that they had always drawn on. Recycling them endlessly, just going through the motions. Spitting verbal refuse. Lucian walked to the back, his eyes combing over every passenger. Gleaning lives, and diving experiences from their eyes. Slumped postures, calloused hands and strained necks. Each of them, just like the one that came after them. The same. 

Someone, a young woman, tugged on his sleeve, “Hi, can I sit here? Every other seat is taken. I've already walked miles to get here.”

Lucian tilted his head, people, they didn't ask. They simply took. That's what they always did, that's what they were supposed to do.

But her…

“Sir? The bus has started moving already. I’d appreciate the seat.”

“Oh, of course! I'm so sorry, long days, long weeks have a way of pushing everything but sleep out of a person's mind!” Lucian said with a slight chuckle and smile. 

She relaxed in her posture as she sat next to him. Her face showed signs of less than ideal sleep, with dark bags under her intense eyes, “I can sympathize with that. Hope I haven't disturbed you or anything. I just needed to sit down somewhere. My stop is a few hours away and the driver won’t allow me to sit in the aisle.”

“You're interesting, you know that?” He asked, not looking at her, but ahead at the other passengers. Analyzing them.

“And you’re blunt.”

“I’m honest.”

“‘Honest’, I believe that's an old fashioned word.”

“Sympathy too, I’d wager.”

 “Touche,” She said as she cocked her head, “traits that seem to be in short supply nowadays.” 

Lucian narrowed his eyes, “Yes, those that use them are indeed a dying breed.”

She put a finger on her chin as she looked up, “Ya know, I was in my Creative Writing class and we were talking about how to craft a good motive. So we were looking at the typical storylines of pop-culture. Turns out the hero and the villain almost always have the same backstory. Littered with pain, and loss, only the hero turns to defend others from that same pain. The villain-well not so much. I think it’s marginally the same in real life.”

He turned to her, inquisitive, “My Lucian.”

“Oh right, I'm Clair.”

“Clair, what would you define as a villain? Who fits the archetype?” 

She looked upwards before answering, “ A villain, can be many things. In most cases, it’s someone who intentionally inflicts malice on others with no substantial notion of guilt or shame.” 

“You are very eloquent, Clair. It’s no wonder you’re a great writer.”

Her posture changed, arms held by the legs. Her eyes drifting down.

“Did I say something wrong?” He said evenly. 

She blew out with her mouth as she looked up, her eyes a little red, “No, no, you've been very considerate. It’s not that. I’m just going through something right now.”

He relaxed his posture to match hers, raising his eyebrows to show concern, “It’s alright, I promise. You can tell me.” He said with a softer voice. 

Clair ran a hand through some of her hair with the other caging her phone, “It’s just,” She breathed out slowly, “People don’t like my writing, they say that they could tell a woman wrote it. I gave them a copy of one of my classmates, his manuscript, and they still said that they could tell I wrote it.”

He let her breathe through her emotion, leaning in slightly as he laid a hand on her shoulder, “I’m so sorry...”

“They simply think that I can’t write because of my gender. What kind of twisted place is this world?”

“Seems your life is full of villains.”

She gave a shaky chuckle as she wiped an infant tear from her eye, “Full circle. Nice. What about you, any terrible people-related experiences?”

“In the apartment complex that I live in, all my roommates are beer-drinking pigs. They probably have the same reading level as one. It’s always messy, a stench that gets into your clothes. Every day I wake up knowing it’s just a repeat of the one before.” 

She leaned in moderately, “I can’t imagine that. Every day?”

His eyes took on an almost feral look to them. A sinister light glinting off his eyes, “Hey you know what?”

She looked at him strangely, “What?”

“Let’s just get rid of them! Oh, that's what I’ve been wanting to do since I moved in! It would be so easy too.” 

She narrowed her eyes as she leaned away, shrugging off his hand, “What do you mean, Lucian?”

Rage filled him as he recognized the defensive and unsure posture but he tamped it down, “Oh, you know Clair. They never showed you a shred of human decency. They degraded you, derided you. Just make it stop, and it simply won’t happen again.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re wanting me to do. Kill them?”

Lucian shrugged, “direct methods are normally the best. What I’m saying is, maybe we take a stab at being a villain? Get the pun?”

Clair’s face froze in a perpetually mortified expression, “Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke. Did they put you up to this?”

Lucian hummed to himself, “Sick, yes. Very sick thoughts. But no, I wasn’t paid or told to do anything to you. Although if I have a name, then perhaps I could help you out?”

She recoiled, “Absolutely not,” She looked him over again, “I don’t even know you, why would I give you personal information?” 

He laughed, hearty and from the chest, “Clair, you are funny! You obviously don’t possess means of private transportation such as a car, or maybe even a motorcycle, that's why you’re on this bus. Coupled with the fact that you’re a writer, means that you are most likely financially challenged. Especially considering those college courses you are taking. To compensate you've been working a night shift somewhere, explaining the bags under your eyes. The ambiguous “they” is your boyfriend or fiancee. You held it closer when talking about how they judged your writing. The screen showed a text conversation with him. I saw it as you were asking for the seat. His phone number is 801, 327, 1119. Didn't catch all of your phone number, but it started with 307. Long way from Wyoming isn't it? How is Charles, by the way? Other than that, you are obviously emotionally compromised from tenuous circumstances, so you’ve had a hard time acclimating to city life. You almost completely broke down when I asked a simple question. You think people are out to get you, you don’t think that they're honest, or forthright, including Charles. When you were stressed you ran a hand through some of your hair, a soothing behavior. Possibly reminiscent of getting it brushed, by a trusted parent perhaps? Left behind in Wyoming as you pursued your dreams here.”

Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape as she began to tremble.

“See? Now I’m the villain but I haven't done anything. I’ve just told you things you already know. See how flimsy everything is, how pliant and transparent everyone is? The world has tried to equalize itself by throwing morals at problems so that people can stomach themselves and sleep at night. The nazis did the same thing because they believed what they were doing was right. Who can objectively say whether something is wrong, or right? Behavior has become a social construct.” 

“You-you’re unnatural. What are you?”

“I owe that to you,” Lucian said with a toothy smile, “From your anecdote on villains and such. I realized that I’m done with being what others want me to be. I’m going to be true to myself.”

“I was just trying to make conversation, you can’t really be…” 

He slowly turned his cold eyes to meet her face. 

She quickly stood up on the bus, almost falling as it took a stop, “Driver! I need to get off this bus right now!” 

He raised his palms in an innocent manner as she stumbled herself past passengers, clutching guardrails, until finally running outside. 

Lucian wished her well as a raindrop fell on a window off to his right. 

He sighed contentedly as he kicked up his legs on the now vacant seat.