I Hear Fucking Noises
Today I'm sitting in a nice peaceful area of time and space. There's no way those fucking noises will bother me here. This makes me happy.
So many times in my life that fucking noise would disrupt my normally focused mental state.
I'm one of those people who simply cannot stand being interrupted by unexpected fucking noises, yet these fucking noises have followed me around my entire life. I just can't seem to escape this constant onslaught of fucking noise.
The fucking noises started when I was young. I wasn't quite sure what to make of these fucking noises at first. The fucking noises seemed like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. I'd wake up in the middle night with a sudden urge to take a piss. I'd get halfway to the bathroom and be stopped in my tracks.
What the hell is that fucking noise?
I wondered, in a state of near shock.
It scared enough of the shit out of me to the point where I'd just turn around and crawl back into bed; all while hoping I didn't wake up in my own homemade kiddie pool made out of bed sheets and urine come morning.
Those fucking noises haunted me for many years.
I looked forward to the day when I could finally move out of that possessed household and into my own.
A few friends finally came to the rescue when I was eighteen years old and they helped me pack up my things and unpack them into our new life.
It was a nice new home
with residences on the other sides of the walls.
We all did our best to keep our music and partying down to a reasonable noise level and always made sure to respect our new neighbor's best interests.
Two days and only one hangover later was all it took. I thought I got away from them; the fucking noises were back.
This time the fucking noises were coming from all directions. Through the walls, down the halls, from under the cracks and straight into my trying to concentrate ears. Still, I could never pinpoint the source of these fucking noises and would fear getting close enough to investigate.
The fucking noises again; they began to drive me batshit crazy.
I had to get out there and find my own place.
It was a small third floor corner suite apartment.
I loved it.
Well lit during the day and the south wind would get sucked in through one window and pushed out the other. The place was fresh. A little too close to the train tracks though, but I didn't mind at first because they said I'd get used to it.
I never did.
The train would come along and honk it's horn as a friendly way to say, "Hello, I'm coming over for coffee."
My plates would shake, the wall paint would flake. My solution was easy. Alcohol and music, both at equally excessive levels. To be honest though; the abundance of drinks, tunes and trains was far easier on the ears and mind than any of those fucking noise experiences I had been dealing with throughout my past.
I started to settle in to a normal life.
Things were getting better.
I had the luxury of meeting a few nice ladies. My floor was full of beautiful women. Always coming and going; majority of them were single.
I decided this place was for me. That is, until; those fucking noises started all over again.
So, I hit the bottle harder.
Because I could not afford to move again.
Since I had plenty of time on my hands, often fueled into a drunken frenzy, I had enough liquid confidence flowing through my veins and this helped me, after all these years, finally decide to investigate.
To prepare myself; I bought twelve cases of beer, seventeen bags of chips, three packages of hot dogs, four loaves of bread and one thing of mustard. I was set.
I closed all the blinds, kept the lights off during the night. I sat in silence, waiting, listening for anything out of the ordinary, looking for patterns. I was awake for thirty-eight hours straight when I was finally rewarded with my first clue.
First I would hear bass, then the gentle sound of tires spreading small stones about the partially paved parking lot. This was followed by a brief moment of silence, then I would hear a car door close. From there I would hear an apartment buzzer off in the distance, very faint but still noticeable. Footsteps would follow and the sound would get closer. Somebody, was walking up the the stairs. I'd hear another door close, down the hall somewhere, not too far away. Then, silence.
Minutes later...
Those fucking noises would begin again!
The fucking noises would last two to seven minutes, tops. I observed this same pattern every day until I ran out of supplies.
After being awake and drunk for many days straight, I decided to confront my demons head on, but first I needed to get dressed and buy more beer.
I was in the bathroom, getting ready, when the fucking noises caught me off guard. I flipped out, left my apartment and headed down the hall. I was getting closer, I brought a glass along to place on the doors so I would be able to hone in on the definitive source. I did not have to go far; it was the first door next to mine. I could hear the fucking noises without my glass but I used it anyway to be sure. This was the place.
I knocked and rang and knocked and rang and banged and yelled and kicked and screamed at the door.
After a few minutes of chaos, two scantily clad members of this residence finally opened up to greet me. They did not look impressed.
I asked them if they heard any unusual noises coming from inside of their apartment. I began to imitate the fucking noises to the best of my abilities. They looked at me as if I was a crazy person.
The man, wearing only a towel with a strange bulge protruding from the center region, began to push me around because I would not leave.
As someone who watches mixed martial arts quite often on television, I knew exactly what to do.
When I was on my back getting pummeled, I made sure to roll side to side and keep my elbows up around my face. I'm sure this protected me from receiving a harsher beating than necessary. The woman, who played the role of referee, finally managed to pull the victor away from me.
She did not raise his arm so I still consider myself 0-8 instead of 0-9.
After Jail, Came Counseling
Today was my final session on the doctor's couch. She had become very frustrated with me and said it was time I either went to a home or found a new doctor.
I said, "Listen, lady. I just want to know if I'm crazy or if I truly do hear murderous screams and panting dogs every few days. I'm wondering if that's normal or not! Your pills don't make it go away!"
She said, "They were fucking, you idiot. Those were fucking noises you heard!"
The door was then slammed in my face and I felt a cool sensation come over me like wind on a sunny spring morning. I felt free and unshackled. I got my answer.
After all this time, I finally know what these fucking noises were and what these fucking noises are called.
I just hope some day I can learn what fucking is. That is my next mission in life. There are still so many questions and I need to get to the bottom of this.
Dear reader,
I originally published this story on 11/22/2016 at 10:22 p.m. on Steemit.com
Today I decided to bring it back to life on Steemit. This version is not identical to the original. Some minor changes were made and the formatting was improved upon. The cover is new and this is the first time we see it here.
The original did not do well on Steemit when it comes to rewards(42 cents, that's life) but it currently has 872 views with more trickling in as time passes. That tells me, since I make a solid effort to push my creative works to people outside of Steemit, the original publication is being shared and passed around the internet, slowly. Not only was it an entertaining short story but it doubles as free advertising for this platform as well as myself. A lot of my work has the same effect provided I take the necessary steps to push it out to a wider audience.
After receiving many requests over the past few months from members here to breathe new life into my old work, I decided to go with this one mainly because it's one of my more popular publications that most here on Steemit any many of my new followers don't even know about. I hope you enjoyed it. Have a nice day.
