Rough Work

It must be all in my head. Where am I? Am I? What's that noise? It sounds like static.

--How does he look?
--Not at his best.
--What’s wrong with him?
--I don’t know.
--What do you mean you don’t know? Were you not just looking at him?
--Yes.
--Well?
--He’s not at his best.
--I see.

Everything stops. Everything except that radio. Now I hear footsteps pacing. The floor is concrete. Or maybe it’s hardwood. It’s difficult to say. That must be footsteps.

--What do you think we should do with him?
--I think we should do nothing.
--Do nothing?
--Nothing.
--Won’t that come back on us?
--Perhaps.
--Do you think it would be better to put him out?
--He might get away.
--I see. Yes. He might get away.

Again with the pacing. He must always be pacing. If only I could see. If only my hands were working. If only I could make a sound. Then I could tell them. A raven caws. Maybe it’s a jackdaw, or a magpie. Not so far away. It’s a lifetime away from here.

--What about the machine?
--The machine?
--The machine from before.
--The machine.
--Well?
--Well what?
--Can we use the bloody machine?
--I don’t see why not.
--The machine then?
--Perhaps best if we don’t.
--Is there a reason you think that?
--It may not work.
--Why not?
--It didn’t work before.
--Yes. You’re quite right. It didn’t work before. Hmmm...

Will he never stop pacing? Maybe if I grind my teeth they’ll hear. I can’t take much more of this. I wish I could stand up. Wait. I am standing up. Am I? It’s only in your head. Static from over there. Somewhere over there.

--What’s that noise?
--It sounds like he is grinding his teeth.
--What is he doing that for?
--Perhaps he’s under some stress.
--What could possibly be causing him stress?
--I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because he can hear what we’re saying.
--He can hear what we're saying?
--I don’t know.
--Well, damn it, what do you think?
--I don’t know.
--Yes. You don’t know.

It must be concrete. That’s boots on concrete. That’s why me feet are so cold. I think I can feel my feet. No. I’m not standing on my feet. I’m lying flat on the floor. I’ve been like this forever. I don’t know anything. I can’t remember my name. Did I ever have a name?

--What if we asked the other one?
--The other one?
--The other one from before.
--You want to ask the other one?
--Yes. Do you think it is worth asking the other one?
--I don’t think so.
--Why not?
--I don’t think he would have much to say.
--And just why is that.
--He’s dead.
--Dead?
--Dead.
--How did he die?
--I don’t know.
--You don’t know?
--No.
--Are you sure?
--Am I sure of what?
--That he's dead.
--Quite.
--Then perhaps we’d best not ask him?
--Perhaps not.
--I see. We’ll have to think of something else.

I heard him say that. It can’t be all in my head. Who’s dead? Is that what I feel? Is this death? If death is the absence of everything, then I’m dead. I'm other. Or I’m one. But then, I can still hear the static. I can still hear the boots. Do I hear boots pacing on the concrete floor?

--What if we just left him?
--I don’t think we can.
--Why is that?
--There won’t be anyone left.
--Of course there will. How could there be no one left?
--There mustn’t be.
--But there is.
--There won’t be.
--How do you know?
--Because we’re to make sure.
--We?
--You and I.
--No one left?
--Not a soul.
--How?
--I don’t know.
--You don’t know?
--No. I don’t know.
--And we must?
--We must.
--I see.

Please. Please. There’s nothing left. Nothing left to tell. Nothing left to hear. Only boots. Only static. Only ravens. Only the voice in my head. It has to be in my head. Is it in my head? This has to end.