His world was in a state of chaos, his head swimming with glitches of images of other people's lives. Max staggered through his room, his head a black hole sucking in the hopes and dreams of those around him.
Get out, Max ordered the random patterns that were making his mind feel like a swiss cheese omelette. He caught his foot on the corner of a chair and stumbled as a drunk would onto the floor. His head catching the corner of the wall with such a sickening thud that Max didn't feel the impact.
He welcomed the coming darkness to swirl in and end the visions of millions.
"Max!"
His eyes flickered opened. His face down and in congealed blood. He brought a hand to his head and he felt a gash there, and he knew that he had lost a lot of blood. The good thing about it was that there wasn't the millions of voices crying out to him, but the question remained was who was the one voice that shouted his name?
"This is candy compared to what I've been through already," he muttered. He tried to pick himself up and it was a slow process, like a dinosaur dying in a bog. He chuckled at the imagery of a dinosaur; it could mean a metaphor for what is to come.
The phone rang, sending a signal right to the core of his brain. The feeling of ice on a sore tooth, and he cringed. He steadied himself as he got up and he looked at the blood on the floor (it wasn't the first time... nor would it be the last time) and it made him feel queasy that he had lost a lot.
He made it to the phone after the sixth ring and picked it up.
"Hello?" Max said into the receiver.
"Good Afternoon, is the man of the house in?" a voice said at the other end. Max could hear other voices as well trying to sell things to people who didn't really want them in the first place.
"No."
Max hung up the phone.
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