Everything All At Once

 By Abhiram Pittala

Everything All At Once

Tick. Tock. The sound of the clock on the wall ticking echoed in my ear. I pulled the comforter over my head in a desperate attempt to fall asleep.

Drip. Drop. The uncomfortable noise of water droplets leaking from the faucet hanging above the sink in the bathroom found its way into my bedroom and resonated in my ear. Annoyed, I grabbed a pillow and shoved it in my face. 

I tossed and turned. Whatever I could do, I couldn’t sleep. The noises seem to find and attack me, trying to keep me awake for a painful, dark, 8 hours. The sound of a passing car. Some nocturnal creature is croaking in my front yard. A bird perched on a nearby tree branch hooting away. 

With a heavy sigh, I pushed away the comforters and got out of bed. I rubbed my eyes, the mix of sounds still echoing all around me. I turned off the spinning fan (which also made a creaking noise) before leaving my room.

I felt like an owl, discreetly walking around in my pajamas, my eyes naturally being able to see in the dark. I stopped by my parents bedroom for a second, my ears picking up on their deep snores (mainly my dad’s). But the medicine I was seeking wasn’t in my parent’s bedroom. 

Silently, I tip-toed down the stairs, finding myself in the kitchen. Although the box of pastries sitting on the dinner table were appealing, I pulled my looks away and focused on getting to my grandfather's room.

After about a minute of careful tiptoeing, I had entered my grandpa’s room. It was a bit big for an old man like him, but who am I to judge? I walked across the room, walking around the bed where my grandfather lay. By then, my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I was practically blind. I felt around, realizing I was standing next to my grandfather’s desk. I smiled and moved my hand down and then to the right, leading it to the first drawer. 

I recalled what my grandfather had told me once: the first drawer had his sets of pills, his second drawer had his shotgun, and his third drawer had what I was seeking. Carefully, I bent down and gripped the handle of the third drawer. With a silent yank, I pulled open the drawer. A few minutes of more awkward feeling and I was in possession of what I was looking for.

I quickly but silently left my grandpa’s room. I put the box of cigarettes in the moonlight, authenticating it. Then, I opened the box and took one of the cigarettes. With a faint memory of the procedure my grandfather follows, I put the cigarette in my mouth. I felt around in my back-pocket and pulled out a box of matches I had grabbed from the kitchen. With force, I struck a match against the striking surface, igniting it. Very carefully, I put the tip of the ignited match next to the cigarette before shaking my arm, putting out the fire. I waited for the feeling of relaxation. But that’s the only thing I didn’t get.

My mouth was immediately filled with a dominant bitter taste. I exhaled, smoking being emitted from my mouth. I could feel the tobacco getting stuck in my teeth and rotting. I had every urge to spit the cigarette out, but I decided to push my luck even more.

Then came the noises. All the noises I had heard came back. I felt like my ear was stretching outwards toward the noises as I was hearing them in 8d. More noises began to resound in my ear, which was on the ear of losing its ability to hear. 

It will work, like grandpa always said, I thought as I took another forceful exhale of the cigarette. But its magic never seemed to be initiating. In fact, the magic seemed to have backfired!

The sound of the ticking clock twirled in my eardrums before the drip-drop of the water droplets. Then came the screech of the car tires, the croaking bug, and the hooting bird. I began to hear new but painful noises such as the creaking wooden plank I was standing on.

Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. I covered my ears, wanting the noises to stop, but they didn’t. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak.

Finally, with all my power, I spit out the cigarette, yet the noises did not stop. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak.

I tried to walk back to my bed, but I couldn’t walk straight anymore. Different colors flashed in my ears, a bitter taste flummoxed my tongue, random thoughts raced across my mind, all while the noises echoed in my ear. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. Tick. Drip. Screech. Croak. Hoot. Creak. 

I realized the grave sin I had committed. My body seemed to turn off and I collapsed on the sofa. The noises, the thoughts, the taste, and the feelings all seemed to attack me all at once. Everything all at once. Everything all at once.

About 480,000 people die due to smoking annually.: The urge to smoke goes away whether you light up or not.

Written by Abhiram PIttala