(no subject)
“Madison!” The megaphone said. The megaphone made a buzzing sound. “Madison, get your finger out of your nose!” The megaphone said.
Chief Rick Hollo was standing on a grey metal and vinyl padded chair in the Sorbonne Police Headquarters. He had found the megaphone in the ceiling tiles, with the batteries still full of juice, and now he was saying things to Madison.
Madison was sitting at his desk, excising an ingrown hair, and smelling his fingers.
At the sound of the megaphone and megaphone buzzer, Madison jumped, and clamped his hands to his head, covering his ears, and began wincing.
“But chief,” Madison said. With his ears covered, saying ‘but chief’ sounded like felt. It sounded muffled, and echoey. It reminded him of when he was in the first grade, eating lunch in the cafeteria, in the cacophonous din, Madison would cover his ears in an intermittent staccato, garbling the conversations to an incoherent chattering beat. Through the matrix of the beat, Madison would think about himself as a live action Heman figure, wielding a sword, and riding a giant cat who wore a saddle and armor.
“But chief!” The megaphone said.
“Chief come on,” Madison said.
“Chief come on!” The megaphone said.
“It hurts my ears,” Madison said.
“It hurts my ears!” The megaphone said.
Standing on the chair, Chief Hollo pushed the buzzer on the CB mouthpiece of the megaphone, resonating a horrible, sad klaxon throughout the office. Madison clutched his head, and winced and doubled over, and Hollo laughed maniacally, and pointed the megaphone toward Madison's doubled over, clutched head.
Madison started crying.
Chief Rick Hollo stopped buzzing, and stopped laughing.
Rick Hollo was about to apologize, but luckily the phone rang.
William Comparetto
© 2006
Chief Rick Hollo was standing on a grey metal and vinyl padded chair in the Sorbonne Police Headquarters. He had found the megaphone in the ceiling tiles, with the batteries still full of juice, and now he was saying things to Madison.
Madison was sitting at his desk, excising an ingrown hair, and smelling his fingers.
At the sound of the megaphone and megaphone buzzer, Madison jumped, and clamped his hands to his head, covering his ears, and began wincing.
“But chief,” Madison said. With his ears covered, saying ‘but chief’ sounded like felt. It sounded muffled, and echoey. It reminded him of when he was in the first grade, eating lunch in the cafeteria, in the cacophonous din, Madison would cover his ears in an intermittent staccato, garbling the conversations to an incoherent chattering beat. Through the matrix of the beat, Madison would think about himself as a live action Heman figure, wielding a sword, and riding a giant cat who wore a saddle and armor.
“But chief!” The megaphone said.
“Chief come on,” Madison said.
“Chief come on!” The megaphone said.
“It hurts my ears,” Madison said.
“It hurts my ears!” The megaphone said.
Standing on the chair, Chief Hollo pushed the buzzer on the CB mouthpiece of the megaphone, resonating a horrible, sad klaxon throughout the office. Madison clutched his head, and winced and doubled over, and Hollo laughed maniacally, and pointed the megaphone toward Madison's doubled over, clutched head.
Madison started crying.
Chief Rick Hollo stopped buzzing, and stopped laughing.
Rick Hollo was about to apologize, but luckily the phone rang.
William Comparetto
© 2006