“I need to hold down a job. I need to now,” says Rahul.
“Oh, all the things you humans tell yourselves to live a myth, a fucking imagined reality. You do realize you’re the rat in the maze, right? You do realize we want to die soon, right? So why the effort?”
This voice is in his head. It might as well be human. Right now, it’s benign.
Angered, Rahul says, “Shut up! Without this, we’re a charity case. No home. No food. Listen to me.”
“All the better if you ask me, gives you yet another reason to hang yourself,” the voice adds snidely. “Perhaps severing your radial artery would speed things up. Oh! What about puncturing your jugular. That’s a classic.”
Rahul keeps this voice suppressed, or at least tries to when it reaches unbearable decibel levels. Right now, it’s booming. He’s told it to shut up on more than one occasion. He comes up short every time. That’s why he’s got fortnights with a psychiatrist. The problem is Rahul’s got his Tyler Durden. It’s hard to break him of that.
Ignoring the clamor in his head, he begins blindly applying to content writing gigs. The voice follows his every click. LinkedIn could be the saving grace at the moment.
“Only if I could find a job that’s not as demanding yet pays my bills all the same. Money should not be a cause for my anxiety.” Rahul continues, “Just something stable, and god in heaven please let it stick for this time.” He’s an atheist. This just happens to be common parlance.
The voice touches a neuron, there’s pain in the entire circuitry. Rahul’s head is heavy. It weighs nearly a ton. Top heavy? Yeah, he knows it now.
Silently, he begins to suppress the voice with a chorus of “No! listen to me.” The voice defies every remonstration. This takes more time of his day than he would like to admit, and this leaves broken thoughts lying scattered on the floor. In this case, it’s the web that’s been dirtied by a disastrous conversation. It meant nothing. Nothing ever will.
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