A Little Night Music

A Little Night Music


Tommy slept fitfully.  It wasn't just because his bed was a concrete slab, his pillow a discarded magazine.  He'd been on the streets long enough to be able to sleep almost anywhere.  The problem was the voices.  They kept saying his name.

Less than a year ago, Thomas had been a senior associate with an established marketing firm.  He'd wielded a fair bit of power, too, until he got caught on the wrong side of a corporate merger.  Discarded by the new management, he'd been unable to find steady work and had soon reaped the rewards of an ill-planned life.  He had lived as if tomorrow would never come, but come it had, and his meager savings had quickly evaporated.  The fancy import was lost to repossession and he was forced to trade his prestigious address for one that raised eyebrows in the wrong kind of way.

Not even these severe changes were able to halt the downward spiral, though, and he eventually wound up on the streets.  Whereas he'd formerly been addressed as Thomas by his friends, and Mister Gunn by everyone else, he now went by Tommy.  The other names belonged to his former life, and were too pretentious for his current situation.  The only people who used the nicer names now worked in the welfare offices, and it was easy enough to tell from their tone, if they were granting him a modicum of respect as a fellow human being down on his luck, or just trying to get his file off of their desk.

Tonight, his bedroom consisted of a gap between a dumpster and a low-rent apartment building.  It was a warm night and windows were open.  Quiet conversations and music drifted past as he settled into the relatively comfortable spot.  The hour grew later and the late night hush took hold.

Tommy's dream had started normally enough.  Some random scene or thought had been lifted from his subconcious to be played on his mind's viewscreen.  Suddenly, the whole tenor of the dream changed.  Everything went dark and hushed yet strident voices began calling his name.

"Kill... tommy gun... kill... tommy gun..."

Tommy began to twitch in his sleep, then thrash as he tried to run to escape the menacing voices.  He had no idea, who would want to kill him, but he had to get away!  Inarticulate moans and groans came from the still-sleeping form as shadowy figures chased him down darkened hallways and passageways, and across vacant lots.  He ran faster, but they continued to close in.

"Kill... tommy gun... kill... tommy gun..."

He awoke with a start and sat up, gasping for breath, chest heaving.  A dream!  It had just been a dream!

"Kill... tommy gun... kill... tommy gun..."

Disoriented, he looked around wildly, seeking the source of the whispered voice.  Impossible!  He was wide awake; he was sure of it.

"Kill... tommy gun... kill... tommy gun..."

"No!" he screamed.  He bolted and ran for his life.

The cabbie had no chance to brake, or even swerve, when Tommy burst from the alleyway and into the street.

* * *

"You hear something, Eddie?"

"No, man."

"Well, I do.  It's coming from this dumpster."

The teen hoisted himself over the edge and rooted around.

"Hey, it's an old Discman!  Seems to be broken, though.  Keeps skipping and playing the same little bit over and over.  Volume's stuck on max, too; I could hear it through the headphones all the way over there."

"Music any good?"

"Not bad.  It's those Death Metal guys, Weapon of Choice.  Sounds like it's stuck on Track 2, 'Kill You With My Tommy Gun'."


[602 words]