Light Noise

I heard it six months ago, the sound in Liverpool Street Station. Not merely a sound; a sonic distortion. As I stepped from the escalator it unbalanced me, it disordered my thinking and jammed my cognition. I stuttered and staggered as it sliced through my skull like a melon, turning my head to pulp, compressing it like a boiled egg. I asked a woman if she could hear it, I pleaded with a man to confirm it, I begged a child to assent. All the while this sound, this subsonic whine, beyond the audible, a pitch, a frequency felt not heard, crushed me like a vice. My sight blurring, my thoughts collapsing, I climbed the stairs one by one, each step heavier than the next, my weight escalating, crushing me, until I broke into daylight. And with that daylight it evapourated, the inaudible load. That was six months ago. I went back today and there it still was.