Provokator goes high art as we present a short story by Garrett McNeill...

Her voice slid through the silence like an epidural needle. Any tension felt by those sitting in the room began to evaporate. Alcohol wasn’t working. Every eye-lash pointed towards her. The thing about anesthesia is it produces a sense of unreality and detachment from self. Absolved of identity, the room became a vacuum wherein the pulsating inflections of her voice were clung to by the rest in fungal acceptance.

Devoid of their individuality, the life-raft she proposed in tedious and practiced phrases was met with eager nods and smiles stretched in the required manner; the skin around their eyes was wide in the performance of confused idolatry. "In our community we must be solidified by each other and praise one another even under the utmost persecution," her voice drawled in trained tones. "When our passions wane we must remain unified to retain our dignity as individuals." Someone coughed and glanced at their watch; the longer of the two thin strands rose towards its zenith as she continued.

Her tone was getting shrill; the glass of Zinfandel between her lacquered fingers had been refilled several times. “They say that people enjoy having white noise around, even static in place of silence. Did you know that fish are kind of like that too? They set up radio static around fish tanks to reduce stress levels.” Her mouth smiled while her eyes tried to focus on the fellow cutting up fruit across from her.

He tore a chunk of mango from the shard in his hand and replied wetly while chewing. “They must be relaxed by smoothing the starkness of their environments. Are they not kept in cages – aquariums? Raised from birth to stare at the same four translucent panes of glass until we decide they’re ready to die. Of course they’ll have an aversion to noises coming from outside The radio is just an imitation of the river’s rapids jostling on the rocks, and it sure beats hearing footsteps or conversations all the time – of which you’re unable to fathom. Think about it. They’re swimming around and anything around the cage becomes part of their world, or at least influential of it. I’d wager, if a group of titans mapped the Milky Way as their short-cut route for a Universal Expressway we’d have something to say about it. It would put us a little on edge as well. Even people living near airports, constantly having their calmness interrupted, are more likely to have high blood pressure.”

Halfway through his reply, her gaze descended to the coffee table in front of her and she began to idly glance at the newspapers and magazines strewn across it. Whenever anyone told her to think about something, she turned to margarine in the sun. As she sat and listened to him chewing, her eyes gripped a title and widened. Noticing this, one of his eyebrows rose. Without hesitation, her words followed, pouring out of her mouth as an invading army taking their queue from a scouting party.

“I can’t believe the Catholic Church is supporting Environmentalism!” She shouted at her glass.

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” His hands were wet with juice and he wiped them on the couch. Then he realized it wasn’t her house.

“NO!!” Red lines coursed through her face as her cheeks flushed.

“You mean like Starbucks selling Fair Trade/Organic coffee?” His face was undeniably bemused while her voice rose to a staccato crescendo.

“What do you mean? That’s totally different. Look, I got into Environmentalism back when it wasn’t cool, and now they’re trying to get on the bandwagon? The bible says to be good stewards of your environment anyway, I know that! But now the Pope thinks he can tell us how to interpret scripture? I’ve done it myself already, thanks. Welcome to the 90’s, old man! I’m so glad they caught up so I can go and find something else to be enthusiastic about.”’

While he mulled this nauseous concept over in his mind, she pressed closer. Moving somewhat like a trussed up 14^th century Princess of a bombastic merchant with hopes of marrying into Royal Blood, she eased herself into his space with a smile and a flutter. His mind was turning behind his likewise twisting mouth, attempting to maneuver a strand of thought through this new riddle as his lips struggled to form a smile. In an attempt to avert his eyes, he furtively scanned the room once more and disappeared under his eye lids as he rubbed them, feigning fatigue.

“Awe,” Her voice had navigated from milk and honey tones to a silken-waxy melody. “You aren’t tired are you?” A finger eked shivers from his spinal column as it tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and descended down the side of his neck and rested on his shoulder. I don’t know, he thought. Am I?

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