Something inspired me to write this but it was at the beginning of the year or something so I honestly can't remember. Enjoy anyways.

—————

The worst part about not being able to hear is the voices.

It's only been a few months, maybe six or seven. It happened in July, now it's February, late February. I didn't hear the Christmas songs on the radio, I felt them through the car dashboard. I couldn't hear the noisemakers in New Year's Eve, but I watched the lights flash and ball drop. I didn't hear any love ballads, I watched guitar strings in acoustic videos of the songs. It just wasn't the same without the sounds, but there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, I know I'm losing my grip on my sanity. I hear nothing. Not white noise, just nothing. But the voice in my head isn't mine, because those are never things I would say or think, but they're there. I can't tell a soul about it; only my dog knows, but he's too busy listening for the doorbell or the phone to concentrate on whatever I tell him that isn't a command.

In thirty six days, the world is going to end. And I can't tell anybody. My voice works, it works even if it is a little sad and slurred together. I can't control the volume anymore, I don't want to risk startling the dog, so for the most part I stay quiet.

It's stupid. It's stupid, and I shouldn't trust it, in all honesty. It's a voice in my head, and from what I watched in movies, it's untrustworthy. But I also have to trust it; it was right about so many things, simple things with such little impact and significance that I never would've noticed.

The dog runs around my feet in circles, pacing back and forth between me and hallway the front room. He barks silently and runs to the front door.

I know who it is before I open the door. It's the single person that bothered to use sign language, and not carry around an erasable board and marker everywhere.

Brendon says a quick greeting to the dog and waves from the sidewalk. He must've heard the sound of the car door shutting instead of waiting for the doorbell.

"Good morning Dallon, you too, Cheddar." He carries the dog back inside and makes his way to the kitchen with his backpack before I can exchange the gesture. I don't mind — I usually mess it up anyways.

On the countertops, he pulls out cans and baggies full of necessities that I haven't bought, because I can't drive myself to the store, and I can't read lips very well. "I brought the usual. Almonds were on sale. Do you like almonds?"

I don't, really. They're crunchy and disgusting, unless they're on oatmeal, which I don't eat anymore. "Thank you. Almonds are okay."

"I agree. How is everything?"

It's difficult to tell when you can't hear everything. I don't tell him that. "Just fine. Dog has not driven me crazy yet."

He laughs. I wish I could hear him laugh. I've tried to imagine what it sounds like. I can't even dream it right. "He is a perfect dog. I was going to stay here for a while unless you needed anything."

He continued unpacking, swinging open cabinets, shoving bottles and jars into their respective spots. I tried to savor the moment, if there really were only thirty six days left.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Brendon paused while gathering the reusable bags into one pile. "Always."

I should tell him. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I'll sound insane and I'll have to live out my life in a mental institution. I can't tell him the voices in my head say the world is ending soon. I can't hear, but I do know that's something people would never ever say. But if he did believe me, I could save everyone.

"I don't like almonds."

"I don't either." He smiled and laughed again.

I hated that I didn't tell him. Thirty six days. That's just over a month's time. The world is going to end, and I tell him that I hate almonds.

I couldn't send him into a state of panic. That's a horrible thing to do to a person, especially when it's a matter of life and death — in this case, certainly unavoidable death. I hated that I didn't tell him, but I would've felt guilty if I had. He probably wouldn't believe me anyways.

"Ready for the weekend?"

Immediately, a rush of relief seemed to wash over him. He smiled and his tense shoulders relaxed. "Very excited. I have a lot of things to do and it's all done on Saturday. Sunday is open."

He was teaching classes over at a high school for the summer. I couldn't remember which one or what courses, but there were multiple, and it was overwhelming. He tended to rant about it aloud when his back was turned, which I only knew because he'd revert into signing while speaking when he wasn't thinking about it. "I'm glad it's done early. Let me know if I can do anything to help."

"That would only stress you out twice as much as I am. But I will text you if I need anything. Thank you."

"Of course." The world was ending in thirty six days. Thirty six days to do the things I need to.

Thirty six days.

———

Thirty two. Thirty two days.

I laid in bed and watched the ceiling fan spin slowly on the lowest setting. I'd forgotten the sound of the blades slicing through the air. I'd forgotten the click and hum of the air conditioning kicking into gear at exactly seven minutes past eight o'clock.

Thirty two days. What's going to happen in just over a month? There aren't any asteroids on course to blow the earth into pieces, and I don't think there's going to be one major natural disaster large enough to wipe out seven billion people. It's ridiculous.

Then again, they are voices in my head. There has to be some false information fed into my brain.

The other thing that sucks about not being able to hear, is that I have to depend on sight and touch to do everything. I had to get a vibrating alarm clock shoved under my bed to wake me up, and everything I ever watch has to have subtitles. I also can't listen to anything as background noise or music unless it has a  strong bass or heavy beats.

Brendon drives me to the doctor's office on the other side of town. Driving is the one thing I don't miss, because I was awful at it, and it's why everything happened in July of last year. It wasn't my fault, but it still happened.

He talks but I can't hear him, and he tries his best to sign with both hands when we're at a stoplight. He mostly asks if I want to change the song, or if I wanted to turn around and go get Cheddar.

"I'm fine."

Brendon flinches and lowers his palm on an imaginary scale. I still don't know how loud I should talk.

The car slows again and he takes both hands off the wheel. "Change the song. Pick something you want to listen to."

"No. Taylor Swift is good."

He raises his hand on the scale. Too quiet that time. "We listen to Wildest Dreams every car ride."

"Yep. Her heartbeat is in the beat. Calming."

I see him frown out of the corner of my eye and he slides through the intersection to the road the office branches off of. It's only another few minutes away.

Thirty two days. Thirty two days. "I'm scared."

"About the doctors? It's been almost seven months now, you know the procedure. There's no reason to be scared anymore."

There are a lot of reasons to be scared; mainly the thirty two days left, but the beep test also gives me anxiety. "Go with me?"

"Well I can't leave you alone to cross the fuckin' intersection and talk to the receptionists." He smiles and squeezes my shoulder.

"I might yell at them on accident." I say and Brendon's hand jerks to cover his right ear, I think because I lost my volume control again. "Sorry. I might yell at them on accident."

"It's okay, really. Stop apologizing."

I stay quiet and rest my hands on the dashboard for the last few minutes of the car ride. I feel bad for forcing him to listen to the same circuit of songs on repeat, but they're the only ones I really like anymore. No bass, no beat, no good.

He parks the car across the street and jogs around the front of it to hang on to my bicep, just a little comfort when we near the intersection. It's not too bad of a road to cross, but it's six lanes of traffic, and I still get a little nervous when cars speed, and that's exactly what they do.

My chest tightens when he steps off the curb and drags me with him. I don't want to do this again when we have to head back to my place.