The butcher was determined to complete his task without any interruptions. Little voices kept ringing in his ears. Lost lyrics of songs and poems from times past. Words, Words, words. Damn words. Everywhere, every minute, pounding at his temple. "We are children, children of God playing in the background" How many remember? On that particular day, the butcher heard an insistent knock on his door.
The barrage of sound continued. Another flash another wave of words another conversation coming to life - uninvited.
The butcher paused, the flood of sound ceased, just one lingered, balancing above his head, like a guillotine before the thud.
A word that made everything go silent ...
Again
