April 2025 Short STory

“I’ll be back!” said Ernest, causing bouts of laughter in the New York subway. A small group of teenagers chatted loudly about the newest craze, much to the annoyance of the older passengers in the same car.

“You sound just like the real thing! Me and Nick will head there tomorrow to get our own voices! I can’t wait to sing like Michael Jackson.”

As the youth discussed what voices they were going to rent, Ernest got ready to exit at his stop. 

“Hasta la vista, baby,” said Ernest, throwing a salute as he got off and headed home. For such a young teenager, the deep, brass voice of Arnold sounded out of place and comical, to the observant person. Walking home, he espied a stray cat, which was licking a small wound on its paw. 

“Come with me, if you want to live,” said the young lad, quoting yet another phrase from the famous actor as he held out his land. The cat, hearing the robustness of his voice scattered away into the alleyway.

At home, Ernest’s mom was not impressed with his new voice and inquired if it was permanent. 

“No, no, as long as I return to the shop by noon, I can get my old voice back.”

“Thank goodness, I don’t want you sounding like a robot for the rest of your life.”

After getting changed, Ernest came downstairs to have a scrumptious Friday dinner to kick off the weekend. When it came to bedtime Ernest was starting to tire of his new found voice. While it had been fun at first, the fact was it didn’t sound like himself, and he was starting to miss his own personal voice. Falling asleep with images of machine armies fighting with human resistance, he felt like he himself was in the movies.

Ring! Ring!

Ernest slammed the alarm clock before panicking as he had hit snooze several times already and it was nearly eleven thirty in the morning. Rushing to put on his clothes and shoes, he dashed to the shop by the subway station where the old man Bradley Cooper was renting out voices.

“I’m back! Can I get my voice back?” said Ernest eagerly, with a little bit of panic in his baritone voice. 

Brad pointed to the clock on his wall and rummaged through his tape recorders to find the one which had recorded Ernest’s original voice. 

“Sonny, I warned you about coming back late. These tape recorders which switched your voices start to degrade after twenty-four hours. You’re about half an hour late, so I’m afraid there’s some decomposition of your original voice,” explained Brad.

Taking the tape recorder and playing the tape, the voice was a tangled mess of Ernest’s original voice mixed with the voice of Arnold. 

Getting on the subway train, Ernest was crestfallen and had completely forgotten all the fun and laughter he had borrowing a new voice. Now, more than ever he wanted to have his own voice back, and to be himself, and not pretending to be anyone else. All around him he could see others who were also enjoying living a pretentious life, sounding like someone who they could never be. With eyes welling up with tears, he rushed back home, cringing at what his mother would say when she would find out what he had done.

“Okay Gregory, just sing our national anthem for the recorder and you’ll be sounding like Michael Jackson in no time!”

As the teenager belted out the anthem with pride, his squeaky voice began to sound more like the popstar, till it was virtually undistinguishable from the real thing.

“Now remember Gregory, you must be back by eleven tomorrow morning, otherwise you may not get your real voice back, okay?”

As Brad stored the tape recorder safely in his collection, he smiled at the youths showing off to each other their new found voices while waiting for the subway trains. Some were singing ballads and operas, a few belted out songs like pirates, while others rapped just as good as the professionals. Having his shop next to the underground subway stop meant his voice rental booth had a steady stream of customers, all eager to try a new vocal experience. 

Brad smiled once again. He knew young people were dissatisfied with what they had, and most don’t realize just how lucky they were with what they had. 

“Give me my voice back or I will terminate you!” shouted Ernest, causing Brad to look up at the front. 

“I’m sorry lad, but I told you—” Brad stopped mid-sentence as the youth pulled out a pistol. “Easy there buddy, Let’s talk this through, shall we?”

Ernest was shaking with rage and fear, with bits of his young voice mixed with deep notes of Arnold’s speech. “I sound like…a freak! Give me my voice back or I’ll shoot!”

“Steady there bud, let’s not be hasty—”

Pop!

Brad looked down at the hole in his abdomen, with blood seeping out from the wound. 

“You ruined my life, so I’m ruining yours!” shouted Ernest as he aimed his gun at Brad once more.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Brad’s body fell limply to the ground, his head lolling back and his tongue sticking out, regurgitating blood.

Ernest sobbed loudly as he crouched to his knees, regretting the foolish decision that made his life a living hell. 

Strangers and onlookers stared in silence, frightened by the gunshots and not wanting to get involved. Ernest rushed into the shop and started destroying all the tape recorders he could find, thrashing them and even throwing them onto the subway track. He exited the shop and stood next to the tracks, looking at the scrapes and cuts on his hands from his rampage. Then, as a train approached the station, he closed his eyes and stepped onto the tracks, with the bright headlights of the train being the last thing he would see.

The End