David – Thursday: Plague Day
Something was different. He could hear something. He rolled over, scratching at the side of his head. He scratched a lot these days, which probably came from not showering for a few weeks. He’d scratched his scalp raw and his fingers came away with blood and hair under the nails. It should probably hurt, but he felt nothing.
There it was again. A shuffling skritch skritch.
Sound.
It ran through him like he’d been dropped into an ice-cold bath and every hair on his body stood on end. Sound meant he wasn’t alone. Or it meant the wind was blowing. It wouldn’t be the first time since he came here he’d thought he heard someone.
But something was different. He could smell it, a scent new to his desolate corner of the city.
David pushed himself up from his bed of concrete and slouched out from under the bridge. The Thames was sluggish this morning, moving like children on the way to school. He stopped to stare at it, keeping his eyes from the empty streets and empty buildings that surrounded him.
As he had done every morning, he tried to remember. He remembered finding a rose on his bedside table. He remembered looking down at Amber and shaking his head, then sneaking from the house and off to work. He met up with Steph at lunch and they banged like bunny rabbits. She loved the rose. Apparently one red rose was romantic, where twelve were cheesy and thoughtless. Eleven days of complete isolation still hadn’t given him the answer to why that was, but it didn’t matter, he’d got it right.
After that, he remembered nothing. He’d left her flat and the world had gone, or at least, the world that included other people. He’d rushed back to hers but she was gone along with everyone else.
He tried to kill himself in the first few days. He’d stood on the railing of the millennium bridge and readied himself to jump. But he couldn’t. He’d headed into Boots and filled his hand with painkillers and all sorts from the pharmacy. But he couldn’t put them in his mouth.
After the first few attempts he’d given up. Things… slipped. His mind didn’t work like it used to and he struggled to remember anything. His name was Dave, not David. He worked making greetings cards for… the company name was gone. Along with his mother’s face and his first girlfriend. Holes appearing like loose threads on his favourite t-shirt.
Sleeping outside had just happened. The trains weren’t running and he couldn’t sleep in a deserted building anyway. He felt less alone outside, for all the sense that made. He wondered how long it would be before he went mad.
Now though, he wondered what the sound was and where it was coming from. Because he’d just heard it again and it wasn’t the wind. He turned from the Thames and the world clicked back into focus. It was like being at the opticians when he was trying out different lenses. ‘Now, is it better with this, or with this.’ The optician had just slipped a different lense in and placed a layer over the world, a layer with people.
He screamed, the sound thin and unrecognisable to his desperately starved ears. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the looks he got from people passing by.
He wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t alone.
He stopped the loop by biting his tongue. He bit a little too hard and blood filled his mouth. He wasn’t alone. His filthy hands clutched the jacket of a woman rushing past. From the way she stared, he looked even worse than he felt, but she had seen him. And he could see her. He smiled, tears streaming clean tracks through the filth caked on his cheeks.
He got to his feet and stumbled away down Embankment. He got more looks and people stepped from his path. As well they should. He’d seen hell and returned. He was grinning like a madman by the time he reached the quay. He would take a ride on the ferry and drink in the city.
He had a hand on the gate when he stopped. What if they all went away? What if he was out there on the water and they all went away again? He’d be stranded. He turned away from the gate, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.
What if they all went away?
What if they all went away?
What if they all went away?
What if they all went away?
Enough. He thumped his head with the palm of his hand and found a bench. He sat, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The sounds washed over him and he struggled to breath. It was like the sea, soft but relentless. He needed peace and quiet and instead the noise came from everywhere, beating and beating at him.
He put his hands over his ears and moaned in his chest. Then another sound, one far louder than the murmuring of humanity cut through. Sirens. And not just one, but many. He joined the flock in turning this way and that in an attempt to be less ignorant.
Blue flashing lights appeared over by… what was the name of the bridge? He’d known them all, not so long ago. They drew closer, powering down the side of the river until they reached him. The noise was terrible, piercing his soul as they stuck and stabbed at him.
They flashed past one at a time and he counted them. He stumbled when he reached seven. Was it nine next? It felt wrong but he couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be. He did remember that nine or more police cars all heading for the same event was a pretty big deal though. He watched them down to the Houses of Parliament until the lights faded from sight.
A few minutes later, ambulances followed the path made by the police and there were just as many. He was half tempted to follow them. He wasn’t the only one. Here and there people wearing frowns that only half-masked their curiosity were heading in that direction with that half-run, half-walk that was supposed to look both dignified and sporty and failed at both.
With a shrug, he returned to his bench and stared out over the river. He knew what he could do. He dug through his pockets. He’d forgotten he got this a few days ago, but deep in one of his jacket pockets he found headphones wrapped around an ipod. Slipping them into his ears, he thumbed the play button and the scream of Thursday singing Rapture drowned out the incessant battering of the rest of the world.
Next Installment Monday 18th August
