Daedalus lurched over in agony as he hit table. Tears trickled down his face as he gripped the antenna in pain. The shock had flooded his consciousness with the voices of an entire city’s grievances. Oh how he wished the Rosetta shard had never came to him. The product offered telepathy in exchange for some real-estate in his cranium. TELEPATHY!! Did he think eavesdropping on the thoughts and dreams of others was a good idea? Mindless chatter, insecurities, wish-fulfillment, self-love, self-hate, profanity followed by more profanity… You’d think people simmer down this time of the night but it’s more the same. More like the shard from Babel he bemoaned while turning up the TV volume to drown out the voices.
Clark heard a whisper in his right ear. He had been climbing the rock-face of the Yosemite for seven days straight, hardly getting any sleep under the mountain’s shadow. With his head turned, he heard another whisper, this time from his left and a bit more coherent.
“Turn back. This is not your time.”
The mountain then rumbled as several loose rocks tumbled down the cliff side.
“No!” Clark hissed. “Not after that wench left me!”
A jostle of voices now rang between his two ears, almost making him convulse under the strain of his weight. He gasped for breath as sweat evaporated off his forehead. Then he heard it. Her voice rang from up above, beckoning him to come in jest.
Anger seethed from every pore as he tore his pickaxe into the overhanging rock. The mountain however would have none of it. The pickaxe broke off a piece that sent both Clark and the rock-face rolling. When the dust had settled, the tears of rage were no more. They found their peace in the murmurs of the cold-water stream below.