The Everyday Man

The bustle on the train station discomforted him. Busy, stressed people. Their clopping shoes, creaking leather bags. They were deafening. At one point, he considered turning away from it all completely. He nervously shifted his weight, stomach churning. Seeing a gap in the crowd, he joined the steady throng and began climbing the stairs. He turned to a woman on his right, and felt the familiar wave of silence before it began. Cries of a baby, the barking dog, soft tones of a husband. He felt it all. He could see everything. He didn’t know how or why, but had been able to for years. Stifling the sounds, he pushed on. They clamoured around him, fighting for his attention, but he ignored them.

He arrived at his workplace, surrounded by the constant need for numbers, results and resolutions. A manager, proud and ignorant, drank coffee and stuck his chest out. He looked at his watch, he looked at his screen, pen and his phone. When he arrived home, he pushed his food around on his plate, disinterested. The world fought him. Entire countries were beckoning, problems here. Problems there. Fires, wounded police, screaming alarm bells.

The next day, the crowd walked in unison again. His desperation grew. Pens, numbers, problems, people. The clocks ticked and the voices grew louder. Each of them needing help, crying out for someone. He straightened his tie, answered his phone calls.

The next day, the train rumbled on, he forced himself to read his newspaper, looking at the advertisements, the opinions of others. At work, he sharpened all his pencils. Meetings, pens, phones, people. Problems, pens, managers, errors.

Years rolled on, back and forth. Helpless voices, entire lives surpassed him. His hands gripped his suitcase. Arranged his documents. Moved his cup from one side of the desk to the other. He ate dinner. Watching the skyline, praying for silence. It never came.

Days and days, rolling on, bustling crowd, creaking leather. Coffee, pens, people, and fires. Wounded police, screaming bells. Numbers and resolutions.

He walked down his usual path, his eyes meeting the view his home, the large fields behind it. He walked, his worn, black work shoes dragged beneath him. He kneeled in the field, and brought lightning down from the sky. It cascaded, his eyes shining a brilliant white. It ignited the trees, the earth, the setting sun paled in comparison. No more.