Playing with Numbers

Playing with Numbers

Sitting staring at the screen, eyes blurred head hurts. It’s been a long day. First six hours of school, with brain busting poetry and supremely cognitive draining creative writing. There are three hours off in between but that’s the time for eating, homework, and socializing, more of the second then anything else. And now, I sit in front of the computer waiting for my phone to jump or turn green. The green is a very nice colour, like my room a favourite colour, the yellow is bright like the sun sunflower buttercup. The red makes me smile, it is a nice poppy ruby red even though it is a bad sign, red means trouble red means nine or more are holding. But let them wait for I am going only as fast as programmed to, not any faster but perhaps slower if I wanted though that would not be advisable but really do I ever listen to anything they have to say. I think my record accounts for that.
Four four to three four one. Looking at the consol shows nothing. No light, no contact, just a figment, always the sound heard never always the actual. Rings and beeps go off again and again and again the four four. But nothing just the voice in the mind. It is clear, he is laughing and joking dear. On cell on the radio or at home it’s never known but that is okay when his voice comes it makes everything fine, even if a hunt had ensued.
Six to base. Again a look, still no light. The young sweet voice of the junior brings a smile, brings a frown. Hate and love, so unmistakable, sometimes in our language sometimes in everyone else’s depending on the mood, his voice just comes. An apology thought but never voiced, its all that’s wanted two simple words, they’ll never come, never be heard. Never from him. And why. What did I ever do to him, aside from friendliness. Too much dependence on the calls, too good to be true. Never true. Always and forever the disappointment. Little fucker.
Fourteen’s on the air. A grin wide and true. That’s the voice that really wants to be heard, it means that it will come over the radio all night. Even if there’s no call, the phone will ring, answered by her, then he will come over. Never minds, he is good that way. Such a pleasant voice, nurturing and genuine. A smile is heard through the words.
Ten six is busy; ten seventeen is urgent, urgently needed for happiness, contact fourteen for the best of days. Though only a week, it is long enough for six but not for fourteen, he could be here forever. Base comes a few times, not ever the one and one to two, two to one who ever it is talks, speaks and they laugh. Make others laugh too, the radio always does that. No one thinks anyone else can hear but anyone and everyone on the channel can. Sometimes that’s forgotten here. Don’t care much though, just talk, who cares who has ears for it. Who really listens anyways.
Four four to three four one, are you studying. A smile, he jokes and laughter comes across hun. It was just an essay, only an essay nothing more. But finished. No. Point exactly. You were just studying. Right studying, each other. You should be out tonight of all nights. And with who. Your essay partner, dear. No partner here, darling.
Six joins. They talk. They are personified in the mind, brought to life by thoughts. Taken roles of ordering the conscience, both are here, one for happiness the other a warning be careful of the voices on the other side. The words are heard but not heeded can’t be perfect. Now a new voice promises laughter and happiness will he be on the four eight or the four nine, it is always a surprise. We shall talk in two weeks, you are laying it on pretty thick. Always do with those I like to talk to, you have a nice voice darling. And who knows what the weeks will bring, our dreams of drink may come true. But still uncertainties time will tell. Time always tells. Time should have told.
Fourteen is so rich, his voice is so strong manly so brotherly and caring if only a voice. Needs a face, physical. Eyes and hair and smile to see it all, need to see it, have to. The static chimes in ears, the voice are all mainly faceless, but I don’t want that could not stand that. Insanity might soon follow envelop this fragile psyche.
The night comes; the dreams play and come to life. Everywhere they are present. Could it be or maybe perhaps listen to them speak, would they be a match. A trained ear has found no one, disappointment follows the need for pictures is so great. Paranoia what if or maybe perhaps too many to be certain too many to check them all, just too many. And not enough time. Good or bad who cares, ugly and pretty doesn’t matter, just a match to the voice. Ground them in reality, not just mental, dementia, split persona. So many voices so many people will they ever come together. What about him or him he’s cute would be nice but chicken can’t ask. What if it’s not, a fool would be made.
No dancing or smiling keep the eyes down though it is like being asked to stop breathing. It can happen but death would occur soon after. Not looking but what if. It could happen anywhere anytime they could be anyone even… its disconcerting and distracting but too shy to ask a meeting. No could be the answer. To try would not hurt but the relationship is good right now, why fuck it up. Aside from the fact that it haunts every part of my mind. And what if it is a six all over again, to handle that would take courage, of which I lack and who ever wants that. Fucking prick, what a little Shithead, fucking Asshole… Shithead with the nice, sweet, young voice. If fourteen is like that, devastation, heart broken into too many pieces to put back together gain. No kings’ horses no kinds men would ever have a strong enough glue to put them together, never enough patience to find all the parts. Never anything. Quitting would ensue, could not stay were that the case. To handle would be too great, could not do it. To hear their voices would drive me insane to the point of braking. His especially.
The voices must remain only that. In the mind of the one, in the mind of the many, the will remain only the voices. They cannot become anything else- it would hurt too much if the rejection of six spread. Nothing more to them, nothing less but always forever the wondering the thinking the everything but knowing.
“Four four to three four one” The light.
“Four one, here, go ahead….”