Silent Raven

"Er, hello?"

"Yes, hello."

"I'd like to place an order."

The receiver makes a strange scratching noise, like a cat's claws pulling at the carpet. I want to pull away but the phone seems to be magnetically attached to my head. The shuffling on the other end stops and a clear male voice rings into my ear.

"Domai's Pizza, how may I help you?"

"Sal, is that you?"

"To whom am I speaking?"

"The raven quotes no more, though she tries in vain, her voice is heard no more, her cawing silenced."

More shuffling, this is beginning to get annoying. If I hadn't already been so nervous I might have started sweating, as it is my palms are already a sensitive taffy. It all seemed so ridiculous, in another situation I might have laughed. Or cried. Either way it would all be over soon. Brown and his wife are coming over for dinner later, maybe we'll be able to shoot some pool when we're done. Janice . . . she is such a nice woman.

"Domai's pizza, we are preparing your order. Under what name shall we put the reservation?"

"Thomas, my name is Thomas."

I give him my address and feel the back of my pocket for my wallet. I've done it so many times that the familiar bulge gives me some small comfort. I wipe my hands on my finely pleated pants, the sticky sweat pulling slightly at the fabric and leaving smudges on my clothes. A noisy clacking rises from my newly-shined shoes as I tap my foot on the noxious flooring, the grout rotting between the dirty tiles.

"Your order will be ready in fifteen minutes, please be ready to pay when our representative arrives."

"Thank you."

I hang up, my limbs wooden and cold. I stumble out of the bathroom and fall onto my bed, drinking in the familiar smells of stale air-conditioning, incense and dope. It's like I could just lie here forever, let the world move on without me. No, I must continue, I've committed already. Committed to this. I won't fall, I won't fail. Slowly, slowly as if dreaming, slowly as a man in a deep sleep I rise and move to the neatly folded pristinely-white shirt lying on the immaculately clean table. My reflexes are numbed, sluggish, and I do not even notice when I kick past a pile of dirty socks, one of which lands on a piece of pizza so old it has achieved sentience. My focus is on the buttons. There are so many of them. So many buttons.

I'm at my door, but I don't know how I got here. I never know, so I guess it really isn't important. I go to ring the doorbell, but remember the key in my pocket. Silly me. My hand is steady and I feel some part of me hope that the key won't fit. It slides in with a disconcerting click, the lock offering no resistance. Inside the house is just as it always has been, vast and forbidding. Really, I can't even remember what it cost for that ridiculous chandelier, but it must have been expensive. Are those inlays made of diamond? Still, I don't care about that. That's his life, and I don't know Him anymore.

He'll be dead soon anyway.

Oh, there's the doorbell!

The echoes of the bell are still bouncing around inside my head, harmonizing with those voices, those angelic voices. Deep down inside I know it's too late to go back. I am like a celestial body, a meteor doomed to burn up in the atmosphere; I cannot resist the gravitational pull of the door handle. There he is.

"Nice tuxedo."

"Mister Thomas?"

"Come on in."

An open palm waves him in, and I am helpless to stop it. He glances around furtively, and gives me a suspicious glance.

"Where is your . . . client?"

"Open your eyes, he's here."

Eyebrows narrowed, Tuxedo retrieves a small black object from his coat pocket and steps quietly through the long wooden hallway into the marble-floored kitchen. I can track his progress by the clacking of his very fine shoes. It takes him but a few moments to examine the first floor of my mansion. His mansion. Tuxedo returns, and he looks perplexed. I want to put his mind at ease, but my impatience is overwhelming.

"Can't you see Him you fool? He's right here!"

Inside I am writhing, gnawing at myself. He wants to leave, I can feel it. He wants to be set free. He can have my body but He will never have my mind! Quickly I rip open my shirt and bare my chest at Tuxedo. I know I am sweating now, even in the coolness of the central air. Tuxedo is gaping at me, staring at my naked upper body. His hands are trembling.

"Finish it!"

He starts to lift his pistol, the agony of the motion blatantly apparent. I would help him, but I am living in my own agony of existence now. He's figured it out. Maybe He knew all along. Maybe He just drew me along to show me how futile resistance really was. Either way, He would be dead soon, I had made sure of this.

Tuxedo is still lifting his pistol, it's at chest level now, and aimed directly at me. I close my eyes and wait for bliss to overtake me. There's a soft snapping noise, and I smell gunpowder. Has he shot? My eyes are open now, pleased with what they see. I am not so pleased. Tuxedo lies on the floor, blood pooling from his head. His eyes are open, the pupils entirely dilated. I want to cry, to scream in frustration, but He won't let me. He starts laughing, and I can hear the laughter. He can hear the laughter.

I have failed.