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Then to the glass someone is putting in front of me.

It's like a hundred different songs are playing at once, each one with its own melody, its own rhythm, its own words. I can hear every single one of them, but I can't make out the lyrics anymore.

And the harder I try to follow one, the more the others push their way in.

I look down at the table, trying to concentrate on something that isn't moving or talking.

A fork.

A folded napkin.

The little flame of a candle flickering between two glasses.

But the sounds keep coming.

A hand lands on my shoulder from behind, and I turn, only to find whoever touched me has already moved on.

Someone asks me another question.

At least, I think it's a question.

I hear the words, but by the time I reach the end of the sentence, I've lost the beginning.

Fuck.

I know how this goes.

Every voice, every laugh, every scrape of a chair feels like another thread being thrown into my head. Normally I can separate them, find the one I need and let the others fall away.

Not anymore.

They're tangled together now, a thousand threads knotted so tightly I can't find a single end to pull.

And still they keep coming.

Someone shouts across the table. A child shrieks behind me. Glasses clink, chairs move, people laugh, and each sound seems to hit somewhere inside my skull before the last one has had time to leave.

The noise isn't just around me anymore.

It's in me.

Sharp and relentless, like someone is throwing knives at my brain and expecting me to keep catching them.

So my brain does the only thing it knows how to do when there's too much coming at it.

It plays dead.

One moment I'm trying to follow everything, and the next I can't form a single coherent thought.

I know people are talking. I know someone is sitting beside me. I know I'm supposed to be doing something, answering someone, probably smiling at the right moment.

But there's nothing there.

I look down and realise both my hands are curled into fists beneath the table.

Fuck.

I'm done.