You know the sound of the original alarm that you find on iPhones? The cataclysmic, nuclear warfare impending beep? That’s not the one that is haunting me right now. The one that’s haunting me is the stupid fucking fire alarm that needs to be installed in every home that renters are in. It keeps going off, despite all attempts to stop it. Haunted isn’t even the right word to describe it. It’s like that person who you don’t want to talk to who incessantly hits you up. “Hey bro, how you been?” I’ve been great, now fuck off – please.
The worst part of the whole fucking ordeal is that it doesn’t have that sound like a nuclear holocaust. It sound like a basketball game. Sneakers rubbing against the wood. If you are ever watching a basketball game with friends, bring that up. You’ll never be able to hear anything ever again. The sounds of sneakers rubbing their third world recycled plastic against the wood. That’s what this stupid alarm sounds like. Except it’s shorter, stark and you can hear it through two pillows suffocating you like Antonin Scalia.
It’s like one’s consciousness. I tried to shut it off. That’s what most people will tell you to do first. At first I thought it was the carbon monoxide alarm. Part of me hoped that it would kill me. Silently. Like a hit marker. Tisk. It would be over, 360 no scope off the top of rust, and somebody else would have to smell the gaseous excrement and clean up all the dirty dishes. I threw the monoxide alarm in the freezer. It was the fire alarm.
It’s a single beep. The thing must be going haywire or something. I tried to time it. I laid awake in bed last night. One minute? Two minutes? Five? I couldn’t count. Thanks liberal arts. It won’t stop. Beep. Now you’re in the bathroom? Beep. Making an English muffin? Beep. Trying to read? Beep. It will never leave you alone. Beep. Like consciousness, it’s with you every waking moment and you can’t stop it. Besides, you know, smashing it.