The Voices in Your Head

It was a quiet morning. As dawn broke I embarked on a run alongside the Mississippi River. I saw patches of ice and snow scattered over the road and was mindful of each step that I took. The river glistened and its water crept south under a pale winter sunlight that was partially blocked by clouds.

At some point, a few miles into my run, a homeless man faced me. We were the only two inhabitants beside the river. His face was streaked with dirt, his beard unkept, his flesh wizened.

He had Apple headphones in his ears and the wires dangled down, connected to nothing but air.

“Hey, you there,” he said. “Come here.”

I looked his way.

“I found these ear pieces and put them in my ear,” he said. “And voices started talking to me!”

I said nothing and kept running. He continued:

“The voices tell me to do horrible things. Things I could never imagine. Come here, buddy. Come listen with me. I want you to hear the voices too.” And he took an ear piece out of one ear and extended it toward me.

I kept running, but I’ll remember that moment for some time.

Then I looked up at a bridge crossing the river and saw a steady current of vehicles moving toward the city. From my distance it looked like a single file of ants marching from their colony.

And as I thought this I turned around and ran home, not knowing if I was running away from this terror or toward it.