And then every father that had to work that morning and deal with their wife encouraging their little children to throw food in the shower let one large moan of anguish out. It was something that would reverberate for weeks as they were forced to clean up those god damned eggs out the bottom of the shower which resulted in them being late for work for the third time this quarter. With that in mind one in particular, John Smith, questioned why he ever decided to get married in the first place. These little money drains run around virtually throwing away his hard earned paycheck, his wife doesn't understand him anymore let alone has she seen his penis in an erect state in more than five years... well baring of course the instances where she's walked in on him jerking off to which she's reminded him that the trash hasn't been taken out or that the yard is starting to look a little too long. Too long... Too long is the day when you wake up at six am, you have to be out by seven but often you don't leave until quarter after... you get to work... sit there... you're stuck there for eight hours when the work could be done in five... Janet's, your wife, birthday is today... fuck... you forgot and it's already five in the evening... You put your pants back on and... wait fuck... you haven't even left work yet. You fell asleep in your cubicle and that younger woman, that one you only wish you could have an affair with if it weren't for the guilt which would consume you, is tapping you on your shoulder. She's getting payed 15k more a year than you for doing even less work... but she has a nice title and more responsibility... You get back to work. It's six in the evening... it's not your wife's birthday or anything else important so you figure you'll buy a liter of some cheap vodka from that liquor store on that far side of town... you know the neighborhood with all the bared windows, the chained up dogs, the burnt out buildings... that neighborhood... You hope that no one recognizes you... As you check out and walk back to your car which you can only hope is still intact you notice a couple of youths... They're surrounding this other kid shoving him around. Maybe in your youth you would have gone over but now all you can think of is how ungrateful your own family is of all the mental energy and shit you deal with just to make sure they don't end up here... or one of the thousands of other places just like it.
It's eight pm and you're home. Your wife isn't there... you remember that she had planned today to have dinner with the Johannes down the street because today was supposed to be your day off but you had been called in last night by your frantic supervisor. Or was that last Friday? You don't know anymore. You look around for the kids but figure then figure that they must have gone over with Martha to the Smiths' place to play with their kids. You try and call your wife but your phone is dead. You plug it in and then have a sudden urge for quiet. You don't call her. You get a frozen meal out of the freezer, your bottle of cheap whiskey, a glass, sit down on the couch, and turn on the TV. The first thing on is the History Channel. It's Ancient Aliens. You hate to love this shitty fucking show but you watch it purely to mock it. Somewhere deep inside though you wish that there was a grain of truth. Not this truth. Not a truth in God. Not a truth in anything but the mere idea and hope of a truth. Something to anchor yourself down into. Something that made you want to stay. Every day bleeds into the next with a incessant moan... or is it a buzz? Sometimes it's a chirping or clicking. You don't know what it is but it's there. The only thing that makes this thing driving at the back of your mind go away is that cheap boxed wine. You're thankful that you have bought it on the way back from work but soon it is dry or you slip into unconsciousness.
It's six am... you wake up to your alarm just a bit too late. Your kids, your wife, you don't really see them nor do you really decipher what they're saying. It's just this whirring chirping sound. This clicking in the back of your mind. The curtains open and a bright light shines in. A sharp pain reaches your temples and nothing but the memory of this feeling consumes you. Everything is shaky... vibrating off of itself... You stand up from the table but all you can do is collapse... The light grows stronger. The chirping secedes. The sounds all drown themselves in a gentle evanescent whisper of a moan. You forget your wife... your kids... you job... that younger woman... The neighbor's dog stop barking... this is where you hope that ascendance comes. This is where you hope and need truth. This is the absence of all the noise that had obscured that light. All the glass that had distorted it. All the linen that have changed it's tint. Nope. Your three year old just three a cup of juice on you in the shower.