Season's Greedings

by Melody Kellogg

11/24/99

Buy it, buy it. You need it. You deserve it. Buy it. The half-heard whispers echo through the sparkling clean corridors of West Park Mall, like a forgotten dream tugging at the mind. The shoppers stumble about under the weight of their numerous packages oblivious to the whispering. Children scream for useless, pretty objects, and their blank-faced parents pull out yet another credit care. None of them hear the voices, but I, Johnny Crane, do. The sounds pound in my brain as I follow my customer, carrying her heavy bags. Me-just another thing to buy, a porter to haul around the things they can't afford, but buy anyway. She makes one last purchase and heads for the exit

As we pass through the automatic glass doors, the voices change their message. Come back soon, come back soon, they plead. I am outside for a few blessed moments away from the whispers as I pack the parcels into the woman's small car. She pays me, and I walk slowly back to the entrance. The words begin again as I step through the doors. Welcome, welcome, come and buy, they chant.

The day ends like it has every day for the past five years. I go back to my tiny apartment, escaping the whispers. But tonight, the voices invade my dreams, echoing like a bad record player. Buy! Buy! Buy! I awake in a cold sweat. I know, I realize, what I must do. Tomorrow will be the day-the day I've been thinking about since I first noticed the subliminal messages, just over four years ago. Tomorrow-the biggest shopping day of the year, will be my last to hear the tormenting whispers.

I go to work like every other day. Welcome, welcome, come and buy. I move slowly to the porter's kiosk. Buy it, buy it, you deserve it. As if in slow-motion, I climb onto the front desk, ignoring the stares and protests from my co-workers. I remove my long black trench-coat to reveal the sticks of dynamite strapped to my naked chest. As I grasp the detonation switch, the voices change again and begin arguing. Do it, do it, half say, and No no no no no, the other half. They whisper louder and louder, screaming in my head, drowning out the frightened cries of the shoppers and workers. "Shut up! Shut up!" I cry at the ceiling, then I contract my hand and all is lost in white oblivion. At last, there is silence.

THE END

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