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[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| My whole life, I'd been lead through it by my parents. Coddled, really. I sauntered on through, blind to the rigors and challenges ahead. That is, until my father died. It wrecked my whole family - my mother who was previously so supportive going insane and spending all her money gambling and drinking. She ended up being taken away and put in a home.
So there I was, without any helicopter parents to coddle me. Everything about life hit me at once; bills, anxiety, schooling, debt, and even simple things like laundry. It all added up and it left me nearly crazy myself with stress.
But, humans are nothing if not resilient. And life occasionally throws you a bone. I ended up being helped with by my long lost extended family; my parents had pushed them away. But they ended up finding me. They took me in, even if I had a problem accepting their gifts and help.
But even that ray of hope was washed out by the torrent of shit that is life.
My sister ended up getting cancer, and in a similar fashion my new family fell apart. I didn't have the skills to fix it, and I certainly wasn't anywhere close to independent.
Depression hit me like a truck. What was the point of life, if your loved ones kept dying and you weren't even given a starting chance?
So I decided to jump off a bridge. I couldn't take it anymore. Life was pointless. My existence was pointless. I was nothing but a parasite in the big, shit filled gut of life.
And I drowned. The cold waters and silt embraced my body and pulled me down under, and I accepted graciously the gift of death. Even as my lungs ached and burned for oxygen, and my head spun in panic. I had no regrets. I wanted this.
I began to fade until for a brief, blessed moment there was nothing.
That's when I drowsily woke up. But I couldn't move. At first, I thought I'd been saved by some asshole and paralyzed. But as I became more and more used to my new state, I began to see through the eyes of my new body.
Well, it wasn't mine. It was a young man, that reminded me of myself. He was going through something a lot like what I went through; his parents were splitting up. Even though he still had his mother, I was too wise for this. I could see what's coming.
"Life is pointless," I whispered. "End it before it ends you." | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| Small disclaimer first - By no means do I know what it's like to suffer from schizophrenia. I apologize in advance for any details that are not true concerning schizophrenia. I do not intend to offend. *edits for a typo and clarity*
____________________________________________________________
On November 12th, 1995 I was killed when a drunk driver smashed into the side of my car passing through an intersection. Aside from the accident, there are only two things I remember about the remainder of that life. The first was the pain. The incredible agony that permeated my entire body was likely the only thing that kept me anchored as destiny fought to tear me away from that reality. The second was the light that spoke. Before my life’s spark finally burned out, it said to me in angelic voice, “You will have your chance at revenge.” Almost as soon as the darkness enclosed me, a bright light pierced the gloom.
“Up and at ‘em honey, first day of college in less than an hour,” a middle-aged woman said as she finished opening the blinds into the room. I tried sitting up, I tried to speak, but I could not move or make a sound. Suddenly I realized my arm shifted to my nightstand, grasping a pair of eye glasses and placing them on. That’s odd, I thought, I don’t wear glasses.
“I don’t wear glasses?” A voice spoke, groggily and slightly confused.
“Kevin? Of course you do, you have them on. Are you okay?” the woman responded, sounding concerned.
Kevin starred at his mother, but I could feel he wasn’t really looking at her. I could feel his panic and anxiety building up. It rushed into me like a tsunami, battering and pummelling me until finally I screamed “STOP! You are in a safe place, don’t worry, you are not alone.” I could feel his panic turn into confusion.
Kevin replied aloud, “I’m not alone? Who are you?” Kevin’s mother stood in his bedroom doorway staring at him for several minutes, seemingly lost for words. Finally, she stuck her head into the hallway shouting.
“Tony, I don’t think Kevin is well today, schedule an appointment with Doctor MacGuire for Wednesday. Please keep an eye on him today; I have to get to work.” She turned her head back into Kevin’s room. “Honey, I am going to take your temperature and make sure you are alright, but I have to head to work soon, will you be okay with dad for the day?”
“S-sorry mum, yea, I just… I just don’t know,” Kevin said. I spent the next several minutes consoling Kevin, and could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away.
After Kevin’s mother was sure there was no fever or dehydration, she left for work. I watched uncomfortably as Kevin dressed, I could not close my eyes or avert my gaze.
“I’m in here son,” a faint voice from said from across the house.
I watched as ‘we’ walked through the rooms toward the voice. Nothing in the house seemed familiar. Nothing seemed to have any connection to the angelic voice promising revenge I remember so clearly. We rounded a corner into a dark room lit by several candles, the smell of stagnant liquor and cigarettes assaulted my… I guess, Kevin’s senses. A man sat slouched in a wheelchair, his back turned to us. Newspaper clippings lined the walls describing what looked like a car crash. Kevin approached closer, placing his hand on his dad’s shoulder.
That’s when I noticed. The old laptop on his dad’s desk read November 12th, 2003. The newspaper clippings all described the death of a young man by a drunk driver. I exploded in a fit of rage, screaming at Kevin from the depths of his mind. I told him how worthless he was and how angry he made me.
“SHUT UP!” Kevin shouted aloud, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Kevin turned and walked from the room, despite pleas from his father for an explanation. I quieted, and the tempest I created in his mind calmed. Revenge, I thought, it all makes sense now.
“Burn down the house Kevin,” I said, forcing it into his mind with all the hate I felt.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| I loved it when I got the hang of lucid dreaming after so many years of trying. Everytime a new adventure, even if my imagination was pretty mundane. Usually the same characters would show up; a small family of three in a shitty apartment. Just Mom, and some twin brothers.
At first I was just a spectator to their lives, content to follow along and live vicariously. I don't know when it was that I wanted to be more involved, though, maybe around the boys' 10th or 11th birthday. I was the second-born of the boys this time, Dave. Danny, the older twin was still at the picnic table in the park with mom and 'I' had just gone off to use the restroom after one too many lemonades. As 'I' was coming out there was a rabbit just sitting in the grass like it was waiting for me. Since it was my dream and all I figured it was a good time to have a new pet like when I was a boy so many years ago. Getting control of Dave was finicky, I had to basically narrate third person to myself on what I wanted to do.
"Hey, see that rabbit there? That's our new pet, go pick him up."
Dave stopped. "Mom said not to pick up wild animals or they could die."
"Oh, she doesn't know anything. We used to pet the rabbits on the farm all the time and they lived alright. Go ahead and take it back. Mom and Danny will think it's cool that you're so good with animals." It was taking some convincing, but I could feel Dave warming up to the idea.
I can't remember what happened next, the scene cut to what I think was the next year's birthday. I was Danny this time. Mom had taken Dave and 'myself' to the zoo for this one. Ever since last year and the rabbit, mom had been encouraging us to learn about all sorts of animals. Turns out lions are actually pretty cool animals, pretty much my.. I mean Danny's favorite.
We got to the big cats. The Siberian was off display, but there was still a male African lion in its enclosure. I knew I had to get as close as possible. Uh, get Danny as close as possible. Danny was surprisingly easy to control, no questioning from him. All I had to do was think it and we were off. Danny's nosed was pressed against the glass and..
Where'd Danny go? Where was the zoo? Why am I suddenly an adult? This doesn't feel anything like Danny or Dave. I'm female this time and much older. Oh shit, I'm Marie this time. My head is killing me. The bender I had in Tijuana in the '20s was nothing compared to this headache. When was the last time she slept?
"What the hell happened?" I'm thinking, but the words came out of Marie's mouth.
Before she could answer we looked at the paper like we had for the past 10? ish hours. Headlines of the day 'Twins Found After Search of State Park'. That's where the boys went camping isn't it? They went for their 17th birthday. We remember now. They were all about the whole nature thing since they were kids. First the rabbit, then the zoos, job shadows with veterinarians, the adventure shows.
They should have been fine. This was getting too real. I needed out of this head. How did I wake myself up before? When was the last time I was awake? Shit, I don't want to be stuck in this head forever!
"Neither do I."
I can hear how rough her voice is. Completely raw, hollow.
"Are you doing alright?"
"No." I already knew that, though.
"You can't blame yourself for it, you know. Nobody could have seen it coming. The investigators said it looked like they were heading home because the rain was too much to handle. Rockslides happen. It's a one-in-a-million chance they were caught in the middle of it."
"That doesn't change what happened."
I don't know how to control this anymore. I barely know, knew, this family. Barely got used to being able to control them. Just fleeting moments here and there with them. How do I change the scene? Can I rewind?
I blink and we're on a subway platform. Shit, I don't want this for Marie.
"Turn around. Go home." I'm trying to get her to leave, but controlling her is a lot harder than the boys were. "They wouldn't want you to do this, it's not going to bring them back."
"How do you know what they wanted?" Other folks on the platform are looking at us. "Look, let's go home and I'll tell us whatever you want to know."
"Lady", it's some yuppy in a suit who's got that fake worried look on his face. Probably just making sure we're not going to stab him on his way into work. "You doing okay? Can I call someone for you?"
"It's okay man, I'll get her home safe. You hear that Marie, we're going home and we'll get you through this. I'm here for you no matter what."
"You sure you're alright?" He's pulling out his phone. "Look, I'm calling some people who may want to talk to you. Your name's Marie? "
"Marie, the train is coming. Let's go home." She's stubborn, really hard to get a hold of.
"That's my plan. I'm going home."
"Good, remember two stops then get off? Up the stairs and three blocks down? That's home." I feel us moving to get ready for the train.
"Yes, two steps to get off. Three feet down. Home." We whisper.
"NO! Marie, two STOPS down! NOT two steps!" We're not stopping. I never could get control of the body. "Marie! Snap out of it!"
"Lady, hold it!"
Our guts are nothing but butterflies. I see light. I see dark. I see nothing. Am I awake now? Am I asleep? I can't open my eyes. I can't... I can't do anything. I can't. I can't.. I can't. I can't. I ca... I c. I. I. I. I. I. I.
... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | "Go away." Carson said indignantly.
"You know I would if I could," my voice echoed within his head. It wasn't particularly a *bad* existence mind you, I at least had someone to talk to, which was comforting...
"You're not real."
"Yeah, I wish I wasn't, hate being a burden on you kid."
Silence.
Silence was quite boring honestly, but it was either shutting my trap or tipping this kid over the edge. I may be dead, but I still have morals damnit. I've been stuck here wandering around this kid's head for about a year now, I only speak up maybe once a week, or unless he calls on me, which is increasingly less often.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
"You mean the meds you take? Sorry, but I never really leave, you just can't hear me. I keep walking this endless void trying to find a way out and all I get is more white void."
"Wait... what void?"
"Oh? I never told you about that? Do you have a moment, because this might get lengthy."
"Uh... in a few hours..."
"That's fine, call for me when you're free."
I knew Carson might try and abandon me with the medication, but I liked to think I was at least fairly personable as a disembodied voice along for the ride, well... *now* at least.
When I first woke up in Carson's head I was really panicked and scared, I suppose I frightened him real bad, he's been on medication ever since... I keep talking about time like I can tell how long has passed. Truth is I can't, my perception of time here is skewed and jumbled, but I can tell when he can't hear me, things go... fuzzy... until it wears off.. he takes it twice a day, and that's the best I can make my guesses off of.
"Erik?" I heard him like an echo in what amounts to my head, I must have intrigued him enough to respond...
"Yeah, I'm here"
"I've got time before I go to bed, and take my meds..."
"Right, I'll try to make this brief" I sighed, trying to think how best to explain my situation.
"I've been here for what I guess is a year, I only remember fragments of my life, my name, and my death, you know that already, but here, where I woke up... imagine standing in a room of pure white, but the walls are so far away you couldn't reach them if you tried, so it just sort of gets fuzzier and fuzzier the further out you look, and you can't lie down because no matter how hard you try, only your feet can reach the floor, That's all I can see, I don't think I have a body, and the only thing I can hear is you."
"For the past year I've been wandering around here, trying to find a way out, but all I can find are wisps of memories, *your* memories, it's hard to explain, but I can't see them, only feel them, kinda like how you hear me I suppose."
"So you're trapped?"
He sounded concerned, he was gonna be a good kid... "Yeah, that's the gist of it, only thing I figured out I could do is stomp around and give you a headache, and I haven't done that since I figured out that I could"
"How... how do I help you?"
"Believe me, if I knew, I'd have told you a long time ago, I don't want to be here and I'm sorry for causing you a mess of trouble. As far as I can tell, I'm in it for the long haul, I don't remember what I did or didn't do to deserve this, but don't let me stop you from living your life... do whatever you have to to enjoy your life, just... don't forget about me alright? Talking to you is the only thing that's kept *me* sane through this"
There was a long pause, I worried I may have said to much, after all, our conversations before this amounted to all but small talk...
"Alright, I won't forget you" he hesitated and my world grew fuzzy, for once feeling not quite so unsettling. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| "Go away." Carson said indignantly.
"You know I would if I could," my voice echoed within his head. It wasn't particularly a *bad* existence mind you, I at least had someone to talk to, which was comforting...
"You're not real."
"Yeah, I wish I wasn't, hate being a burden on you kid."
Silence.
Silence was quite boring honestly, but it was either shutting my trap or tipping this kid over the edge. I may be dead, but I still have morals damnit. I've been stuck here wandering around this kid's head for about a year now, I only speak up maybe once a week, or unless he calls on me, which is increasingly less often.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
"You mean the meds you take? Sorry, but I never really leave, you just can't hear me. I keep walking this endless void trying to find a way out and all I get is more white void."
"Wait... what void?"
"Oh? I never told you about that? Do you have a moment, because this might get lengthy."
"Uh... in a few hours..."
"That's fine, call for me when you're free."
I knew Carson might try and abandon me with the medication, but I liked to think I was at least fairly personable as a disembodied voice along for the ride, well... *now* at least.
When I first woke up in Carson's head I was really panicked and scared, I suppose I frightened him real bad, he's been on medication ever since... I keep talking about time like I can tell how long has passed. Truth is I can't, my perception of time here is skewed and jumbled, but I can tell when he can't hear me, things go... fuzzy... until it wears off.. he takes it twice a day, and that's the best I can make my guesses off of.
"Erik?" I heard him like an echo in what amounts to my head, I must have intrigued him enough to respond...
"Yeah, I'm here"
"I've got time before I go to bed, and take my meds..."
"Right, I'll try to make this brief" I sighed, trying to think how best to explain my situation.
"I've been here for what I guess is a year, I only remember fragments of my life, my name, and my death, you know that already, but here, where I woke up... imagine standing in a room of pure white, but the walls are so far away you couldn't reach them if you tried, so it just sort of gets fuzzier and fuzzier the further out you look, and you can't lie down because no matter how hard you try, only your feet can reach the floor, That's all I can see, I don't think I have a body, and the only thing I can hear is you."
"For the past year I've been wandering around here, trying to find a way out, but all I can find are wisps of memories, *your* memories, it's hard to explain, but I can't see them, only feel them, kinda like how you hear me I suppose."
"So you're trapped?"
He sounded concerned, he was gonna be a good kid... "Yeah, that's the gist of it, only thing I figured out I could do is stomp around and give you a headache, and I haven't done that since I figured out that I could"
"How... how do I help you?"
"Believe me, if I knew, I'd have told you a long time ago, I don't want to be here and I'm sorry for causing you a mess of trouble. As far as I can tell, I'm in it for the long haul, I don't remember what I did or didn't do to deserve this, but don't let me stop you from living your life... do whatever you have to to enjoy your life, just... don't forget about me alright? Talking to you is the only thing that's kept *me* sane through this"
There was a long pause, I worried I may have said to much, after all, our conversations before this amounted to all but small talk...
"Alright, I won't forget you" he hesitated and my world grew fuzzy, for once feeling not quite so unsettling. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| "Go away." Carson said indignantly.
"You know I would if I could," my voice echoed within his head. It wasn't particularly a *bad* existence mind you, I at least had someone to talk to, which was comforting...
"You're not real."
"Yeah, I wish I wasn't, hate being a burden on you kid."
Silence.
Silence was quite boring honestly, but it was either shutting my trap or tipping this kid over the edge. I may be dead, but I still have morals damnit. I've been stuck here wandering around this kid's head for about a year now, I only speak up maybe once a week, or unless he calls on me, which is increasingly less often.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
"You mean the meds you take? Sorry, but I never really leave, you just can't hear me. I keep walking this endless void trying to find a way out and all I get is more white void."
"Wait... what void?"
"Oh? I never told you about that? Do you have a moment, because this might get lengthy."
"Uh... in a few hours..."
"That's fine, call for me when you're free."
I knew Carson might try and abandon me with the medication, but I liked to think I was at least fairly personable as a disembodied voice along for the ride, well... *now* at least.
When I first woke up in Carson's head I was really panicked and scared, I suppose I frightened him real bad, he's been on medication ever since... I keep talking about time like I can tell how long has passed. Truth is I can't, my perception of time here is skewed and jumbled, but I can tell when he can't hear me, things go... fuzzy... until it wears off.. he takes it twice a day, and that's the best I can make my guesses off of.
"Erik?" I heard him like an echo in what amounts to my head, I must have intrigued him enough to respond...
"Yeah, I'm here"
"I've got time before I go to bed, and take my meds..."
"Right, I'll try to make this brief" I sighed, trying to think how best to explain my situation.
"I've been here for what I guess is a year, I only remember fragments of my life, my name, and my death, you know that already, but here, where I woke up... imagine standing in a room of pure white, but the walls are so far away you couldn't reach them if you tried, so it just sort of gets fuzzier and fuzzier the further out you look, and you can't lie down because no matter how hard you try, only your feet can reach the floor, That's all I can see, I don't think I have a body, and the only thing I can hear is you."
"For the past year I've been wandering around here, trying to find a way out, but all I can find are wisps of memories, *your* memories, it's hard to explain, but I can't see them, only feel them, kinda like how you hear me I suppose."
"So you're trapped?"
He sounded concerned, he was gonna be a good kid... "Yeah, that's the gist of it, only thing I figured out I could do is stomp around and give you a headache, and I haven't done that since I figured out that I could"
"How... how do I help you?"
"Believe me, if I knew, I'd have told you a long time ago, I don't want to be here and I'm sorry for causing you a mess of trouble. As far as I can tell, I'm in it for the long haul, I don't remember what I did or didn't do to deserve this, but don't let me stop you from living your life... do whatever you have to to enjoy your life, just... don't forget about me alright? Talking to you is the only thing that's kept *me* sane through this"
There was a long pause, I worried I may have said to much, after all, our conversations before this amounted to all but small talk...
"Alright, I won't forget you" he hesitated and my world grew fuzzy, for once feeling not quite so unsettling. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | "Go away." Carson said indignantly.
"You know I would if I could," my voice echoed within his head. It wasn't particularly a *bad* existence mind you, I at least had someone to talk to, which was comforting...
"You're not real."
"Yeah, I wish I wasn't, hate being a burden on you kid."
Silence.
Silence was quite boring honestly, but it was either shutting my trap or tipping this kid over the edge. I may be dead, but I still have morals damnit. I've been stuck here wandering around this kid's head for about a year now, I only speak up maybe once a week, or unless he calls on me, which is increasingly less often.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
"You mean the meds you take? Sorry, but I never really leave, you just can't hear me. I keep walking this endless void trying to find a way out and all I get is more white void."
"Wait... what void?"
"Oh? I never told you about that? Do you have a moment, because this might get lengthy."
"Uh... in a few hours..."
"That's fine, call for me when you're free."
I knew Carson might try and abandon me with the medication, but I liked to think I was at least fairly personable as a disembodied voice along for the ride, well... *now* at least.
When I first woke up in Carson's head I was really panicked and scared, I suppose I frightened him real bad, he's been on medication ever since... I keep talking about time like I can tell how long has passed. Truth is I can't, my perception of time here is skewed and jumbled, but I can tell when he can't hear me, things go... fuzzy... until it wears off.. he takes it twice a day, and that's the best I can make my guesses off of.
"Erik?" I heard him like an echo in what amounts to my head, I must have intrigued him enough to respond...
"Yeah, I'm here"
"I've got time before I go to bed, and take my meds..."
"Right, I'll try to make this brief" I sighed, trying to think how best to explain my situation.
"I've been here for what I guess is a year, I only remember fragments of my life, my name, and my death, you know that already, but here, where I woke up... imagine standing in a room of pure white, but the walls are so far away you couldn't reach them if you tried, so it just sort of gets fuzzier and fuzzier the further out you look, and you can't lie down because no matter how hard you try, only your feet can reach the floor, That's all I can see, I don't think I have a body, and the only thing I can hear is you."
"For the past year I've been wandering around here, trying to find a way out, but all I can find are wisps of memories, *your* memories, it's hard to explain, but I can't see them, only feel them, kinda like how you hear me I suppose."
"So you're trapped?"
He sounded concerned, he was gonna be a good kid... "Yeah, that's the gist of it, only thing I figured out I could do is stomp around and give you a headache, and I haven't done that since I figured out that I could"
"How... how do I help you?"
"Believe me, if I knew, I'd have told you a long time ago, I don't want to be here and I'm sorry for causing you a mess of trouble. As far as I can tell, I'm in it for the long haul, I don't remember what I did or didn't do to deserve this, but don't let me stop you from living your life... do whatever you have to to enjoy your life, just... don't forget about me alright? Talking to you is the only thing that's kept *me* sane through this"
There was a long pause, I worried I may have said to much, after all, our conversations before this amounted to all but small talk...
"Alright, I won't forget you" he hesitated and my world grew fuzzy, for once feeling not quite so unsettling. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I'm dead. I'm dead I'mdead I'mdead. Wait what? I'm not dead? I open my eyes. I don't remember any of this furniture. Or ordering Mexican last night. What the hell?
"Ugh shut up new guy" I hear. Well hear is an interesting phrase because I didn't hear it it was just there, like a thought.
"yeah like a thought idiot"
"hey be nice to the new guy"
"i think he's handsome"
What the hell is going on?!
"Welcome to my head" that was definitely a real voice.
What do you mean your head?
"He has voices in his..er our head"
"I have voices in our head"
" hey there sexy"
I'm a voice in your head? I think as my body rises to the mirror in the bathroom. All I see is a masked man.
"Welcome" he says as he chows down on what looks like a 3 week old chimichanga.
"I'm Wade"
| As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I'm dead. I'm dead I'mdead I'mdead. Wait what? I'm not dead? I open my eyes. I don't remember any of this furniture. Or ordering Mexican last night. What the hell?
"Ugh shut up new guy" I hear. Well hear is an interesting phrase because I didn't hear it it was just there, like a thought.
"yeah like a thought idiot"
"hey be nice to the new guy"
"i think he's handsome"
What the hell is going on?!
"Welcome to my head" that was definitely a real voice.
What do you mean your head?
"He has voices in his..er our head"
"I have voices in our head"
" hey there sexy"
I'm a voice in your head? I think as my body rises to the mirror in the bathroom. All I see is a masked man.
"Welcome" he says as he chows down on what looks like a 3 week old chimichanga.
"I'm Wade"
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| I'm dead. I'm dead I'mdead I'mdead. Wait what? I'm not dead? I open my eyes. I don't remember any of this furniture. Or ordering Mexican last night. What the hell?
"Ugh shut up new guy" I hear. Well hear is an interesting phrase because I didn't hear it it was just there, like a thought.
"yeah like a thought idiot"
"hey be nice to the new guy"
"i think he's handsome"
What the hell is going on?!
"Welcome to my head" that was definitely a real voice.
What do you mean your head?
"He has voices in his..er our head"
"I have voices in our head"
" hey there sexy"
I'm a voice in your head? I think as my body rises to the mirror in the bathroom. All I see is a masked man.
"Welcome" he says as he chows down on what looks like a 3 week old chimichanga.
"I'm Wade"
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| The car door slams across the street. I look up and see the man jogging towards his apartment door. The lights on his car are still on.
My mom did the same thing in the grocery store parking lot last weekend. The car made a coughing sound but wouldn’t start. She cried as the man from the store came out with the special cables and gave us enough juice to drive home. My mom left her keys in the car and the car running when we got home, even after we’d unloaded the groceries. She told me the battery needed to charge, otherwise the car wouldn’t start again.
I don’t want that to happen to the nice man across the street. I try yelling out to him, but there are lots of cars that drive on the street, especially in the morning when I wait for the school bus, so he doesn’t hear me.
“Where are you going?” Joseph asks me, as I look both ways to cross the street.
“The man left his lights on. I don’t want him to be sad when his car doesn’t start later”
“I’m not allowed to cross the street by myself,” Joseph says.
“I’ll be right back.”
I run up to the man. “You left your lights on” I say.
He looks back at his car. “So I did,” he says “Thank you, young man”
I hear a rumble across the street.
Oh no! My bus! My heart jumps up and down. As I start to run, I hear the man scream. Then screetching and squeaking noises.
Thump! Crunch! I am squeezed like a balloon. It feels like when my big brother sits on my chest and laughs, only a thousand times heavier. This time it doesn’t stop. All the air is gone from my lungs. My stomach hurts so badly I don’t feel anything in my leg as the car runs over it, then drives away.
The man whose lights were on stoops down beside me as everything goes black.
The sobbing wakes me up again. It is loud against my ears.
“Joseph. Joseph, honey? I’m so sorry” I hear Joseph’s mom talking like my mom talked to me when Buddy’s leash got caught on the tree and he couldn’t breathe so he died.
“No!” Joseph yells so loudly my head feels like it is going to explode. “It’s not fair! Andy got hit by a car last year and he’s okay. I signed his cast!”
“You weren’t allowed to cross that street for a reason, sweetie.” Joseph’s mother whispers, as though speaking loudly hurts her throat. “The cars go very fast. Ken was hurt very badly. The doctors tried very hard, sweetie, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
“But he’s my best friend. We do everything together, everything!”
Joseph looks up at his mother and goes silent as he sees tears running down her face. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen his mom cry before. His chest feels funny. His whole body feels heavy and tired as his mom holds him close, then carries him to bed.
“I’ll be in the next room if you need me, sweetheart,” she says. “You will never forget him. Good night.”
She kisses Joseph on the forehead and tucks him in.
“What happened to me?” I whisper after Joseph’s mother closes his door silently.
Joseph sat straight up in bed. “Ken?” he whispers. “You can’t be talking to me. Mom says you died on the way to the hospital. I saw you get hit. It was awful.”
“I don’t know where I am. It’s cold and dark and sad here.”
“It’s dark and sad here, too, Ken. You shouldn’t have crossed that street by yourself. That was stupid!”
“I was just trying to help, butthead!”
“Shut up!” Joseph yells.
“Ouch! That hurts my head”
“Well your voice hurts mine, too!” he says right back at me.
Joseph’s mom opens the door to his room. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks. “I heard a shout”
“Tell Ken to shut up and leave me alone,” Joseph sulks.
She walks towards his bed and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Sweetie, did you have a bad dream?”
“No. Ken won’t stop talking to me. If I can’t see him again, I don’t want to hear him anymore either.”
Josephs mom has a really funny expression on her face. Almost like she has forgotten how to be scared or sad at the same time. She smiles as she leaves the room again, but it’s one of those fake smiles like the people in the commercials on TV.
“It’s true. I want you to leave me alone,” says Joseph.
“I don’t even know how to do that! I don’t even know where I am!”
“You’re inside my head, dummy!”
Josephs mom comes back with a glass of warm milk and honey.
“Here, sweetie. Drink this. I know it’s hard, but try to relax your body. You need to sleep.”
Joseph takes the cup and starts to drink. The drink is like magic. I can feel his mind slip away. Soon he is snoring.
The light from the sun is moving across Joseph’s room. I feel its warmth as it hits his face and he begins to stir.
“Hey, Joe? Remember the time we were trying to sleep in your back yard in the tent, but it was really cold. We came back inside and your mom had hot milk and honey waiting for us?”
Joseph hears me and smiles even as the tears roll down his cheeks. “You are such a whimp!” he mutters.
“Nu-uh! You’re the one who wanted to come inside. Buddy scared you.”
“Naw. I was never be scared of stupid Buddy. My dad said the only thing he’d ever do is lick me to death. Remember the time he jumped on top of you when you were zipped in your sleeping bag and wouldn’t stop licking you?” Joseph giggles as his mom comes into the room.
“Who are you talking to?” She asks.
“Ken.”
“Sweetie. I know it’s hard, but you have to remember that Ken is dead. He can’t talk to you anymore”
Joseph looks confused. “But he keeps talking to me. He’s inside my head”
Joseph’s mom has the kind of look on her face that grownups get when they don’t want you to know that something is really wrong.
“Sweetie,” she says, “when you go to school today, there is going to be a man there whose job is to talk to you kids about Ken’s accident. Your teacher knows Ken was your best friend. She is going to have you speak with him when you get to school, okay?”
Joseph shrugs his shoulders. “At least I don’t have to sit in class next to an empty desk. I just hope he doesn’t make me say anything stupid” he thinks to himself.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | It's hard, you know? Always watching...never participating. I took a lot for granted while I was alive. When I first died, and then ended up like this, it was kind of cool. I felt like a kid that had snuck into an R-rated movie, and no one knew I was there. Spectating was kind of fun, and lets face it; this person was pretty interesting. When alive I wasted *hours* of my life (back when I could taste ice cream. Back when I could stretch my legs. Back when I could breath. Back when I could feel.) watching 'EXTREME INTERVENTION4: SUPER ADICTS EDITION' and 'CRAZY LIKE A FOX' (That was the one where they put mentally challenged homeless people in a human maze, whoever figures it out first gets a prize. One of them *always* lost their shit or something, thinking that they'd finally gone totally bonkers). You know, reality tv. Because watching people's problems get worse is funny.
Or...at least... it was. I think. These days, I'm not so sure.
It took me a while to figure out that I could communicate. I'd spent *years* watching them from infancy. This was one kooky kid... the other kids didn't like it, and spent a lot of time calling it the weird one. Kid got beat up *a lot*...which was weird for me. I'd never had this perspective on a punch before. I'd been popular in my life, for all that mattered now. It was frustrating, because I could see the things the kid did, that made the other kids call it names. And I *liked* this kid... I mean, I'd been there so long I didn't have much of a choice. I'd seen how hard the kid practised in the mirror to be 'normal'. I'd seen how time and time again, the kid would be terrified to go to school, but then go with a brave smile and try to make friends anyway... I'd seen how much the kid cried. Every night.
I wanted to help. Ok? I want to get that out in front. I only ever wanted to help.
The first time, the kid was about 16...maybe 17. I cant remember exactly... not having any friends, the kid didn't really celebrate its birthday regularly. The parents tried hard for it, but they were busy. Sometimes they forgot. The kid spent a lot of his time alone, with only me for company...and it didn't know I was there. I started thinking that if maybe it knew I was here, that *someone* gave a fuck about it... maybe that would make things better. I didn't think that it was possible to make things worse. After all, it's clearly miserable all the time. I decided to try to help this kid, somehow. After all, this wasn't just his life; it was also my afterlife. There *had* to be some point to it.
The kid was in class. The math teacher was going over the previous nights homework, which of course it hadn't done. It rarely did homework. Like most things, it never mattered if it did or not, no one was paying attention anyway. Suddenly, the math teacher was pointing at the kid, asking him the solution for #12. The kid looked down at the paper, and had no clue. It was Algebra, which the kid hadn't learned. Maybe because this was the first time the teacher had ever spoken directly to it. The kid started to shake, it didn't know the answer and people were starting to whisper and giggle. It wasn't fair! This kid had only ever tried to make them like it, and they had ignored it until it thought it was forgotton...and now they laugh?! If I'd had blood, it would have boiled. I was seeing red.
I looked down at the math problem, and realized I knew the answer even if the kid didn't. We could show that smug fuck of a teacher, and those asshole classmates. Fuck them, we didn't need them. I spoke.
"Hey, Kid!! look, if x+y=7, and y=4, then x+4=7. Then you just go 7-4=x, or x=3...tell him!! tell him x=3!!"
The kid sat up in his seat like he was hit by lightning. "wh...What?!" he said, looking around him totally confused. The room burst out in laughter.
"I SAID" the teacher began, in an exaggeratedly slow and loud manner "CAN. YOU. TELL. ME. THE. SO-LU-TION. FOR. QU-ES-TION. TW-EL-VE?"
...and I thought I was angry before. The kid was trying SO hard, and here was this authority figure, this *educator*, contributing to the kids victimization. I wanted to put him in his place so badly. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. I just went off.
I don't remember all of what I said, but when I was done screaming I realized that the view had changed. All I could see were legs... of people, tables, chairs... they were all sideways. After a disorienting moment it became clear that the kid was laying on his side on the floor of the classroom. Fetal position; rocking gently. No one was laughing.
That was the beginning. I should have just shut up then. Maybe if I had, the kid could have gone on to live a somewhat normal life... more normal than it did, anyway. After that, the kid's life started a downward spiral of assessments, diagnosis (plus the bonus stigma that comes with it) and bullying. All that combined with the fact that the suffering was now compounded by the 'confirmation' of the kid's weirdness. The other kids at school were right, it was a freak. All because I lost my temper. I wish I could say that it was the last time this happened, but I still *cared* about this kid, and now people were treating it *worse* than before... which I didnt know was possible. I was enraged. Often.
I felt awful, and kept trying to find a way to explain to the kid who I was, what my intentions were, and how sorry I was for losing my temper. I just wanted to help. I could see things, understand things the kid didn't or couldn't. If it would just trust me... just listen to me. They tried so many different medications on it... of course none of them have worked. I kept trying to tell it... too late to shut up now anyway. I've already caused so much damage. If I could just get it to listen to me, maybe I could fix things. Put them right, somehow. Things have gotten slightly better since the institution. At least now it's safe from the people who treated it so poorly, but days are long and dull spent in a thorazine haze. Nights are long, and full of memories of suffering.
I spend a lot of time these days begging it not to suicide. I don't know what will happen to me once it's dead, although that's not the only reason. I worry what will happen to the kid, if it kills its self. Will it end up like me? How would I end up?
I didn't think I could fear death, once mine was already over with. I knew it was possible to regret your life; I've met many people who wished they'd never been born. It had never occurred to me that it might be possible to regret your own afterlife, but I truly do. I wish I'd never died. | All light flashed before my eyes as I exited this world, but as fast as the light appeared, it became darkness. A large empty space that seemed to go on infinitesimally. I tried to move, but I seemed to never get anywhere. Everything looked the same; darkness surrounding me. I didn't have hands, or any body, really. But I could hear my thoughts. Could I speak?
"Hello?" I called out into the darkness. Silence. I figured I would try a second time, but louder,"Hello!"I shouted into the void.
The silence lasted only a second this time,"H-hello...?" The voice was small and meek. Somewhat hesitant. The voice of a child.
I decided to talk once more, "Where am I?" My voice echoed into the abyss once more, as I waited for a response.
"Mommy told me you weren't real. She said to ignore you and the others..."The voice came once more, seeming to be nowhere and everywhere at once. The child was a girl. I could tell that much.
*Others...?* I thought to myself. "What do you mean?"
"The voices. Mommy told me they weren't real. She told me to ignore them and they'd go away. I don't like the voices." She sounded as if she was crying a little now.
"Can you at least tell me where I am?"
"Mommy said you're all just in my head. I thought all the voices went away. Why are you here?" She managed to say through the crying.
*In her head?* I thought to myself, before saying,"I'm Jordan. I don't know how I got here exactly. But I'm real, I was alive, I don't know how I got here, I swear."
"No nonono you're not real, mommy said you're not real, she said they'd call me crazy, she said they'd hurt me."She rushed saying,"They'd make me take medication and put me in a crazy house." She was frantic, and I knew if she didn't calm down her mother would notice.
"Shhh, shhh calm yourself child!" I said. The crying subsided a bit, but stayed nonetheless.
I heard another voice, more faint now,"Mary, were you talking to yourself again?!" The voice sounded angry. "Mary I told you what would happen if you talked to yourself!"I heard the voice getting louder, as if it was closer.
"No mom, I wasn't talking to myself, I swear mom please!"The girl shouted.
There were loud thuds and the abyss seemed to experience an earthquake, bright flashes of random colors came with each loud and heavy thud, and then there was a slam. Silence again.
The crying started again,"M-Mary...?" She didn't respond,"Mary, I'm sorry, at least let me know you're okay..."
The silence seemed to grow, before being broken by,"You're not real..."
I couldn't see through her eyes, but I could feel her nervous twitching, and the pain. "Mary, can you turn on a light?" I heard a clock and the world formed around me a bit. I saw everything appear before me. A room, the walls a pale white, the bed, with the dresser in the corner and the bookshelf across from the bed. But it was somehow unsettling. The shadows seemed to crawl around the room slowly, and I could tell that whenever she moved, they seemed to move even more.
She was just a scared, she looked down at her blanket. Little droplets of blood fell over her blanket and shaking hands. The moment was surreal. "Are you going to sleep Mary...?"
"I don't sleep much anymore...I sleepwalk when I do, and my mommy gets mad..." She began rocking a bit.
"Mary!"I heard the mothers voice again, and the girl jumped up out of the bed.
"Mommy please no!"I heard the girls voice scream.
The mother swung the door open rushing to Mary, fists clenched, and she picked her up, and then all was black again, the colors flashing came again, but slowly grew dull, the thuds becoming weaker and weaker. And then all was black. Silence. Silence forever. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | In a way, the pills got me twice.
The first time was my fault -- at least, from an outside perspective, although that's not what it felt like at the time. I had laid them out in a nice, neat grid, first twenty-four in a single line and then two rows of twelve and then three rows of eight, doing my best to put it off for as long as I could, but the longer I spent playing with the little white tablets the more frustrated I became.
*Coward*, the little voice in my head said. *You're just delaying the inevitable. If you're not going to do it properly, why even bother pretending?*
It was a little after midnight when I started drinking them down, swallowing each one with a little sip of vodka that burned my throat. *Should have gone with water*, I thought after the ninth or tenth pill, but by that point I got the feeling that if I stood up to go to the kitchen I'd probably call someone to take me to the hospital, and then they'd pump my stomach and everyone would look at me like I was an idiot and in three months I'd just end up wandering out into traffic or throwing myself under a train -- no one would give me another prescription for sleeping pills after this, not a chance -- and that seemed like a much messier way to go out.
I woke up three days later inside someone else's head.
His name was Kevin, which took some getting used to for both of us. He was a builder who lived on the other side of the country, a nice family man who had never shown any sign of being anything less than normal, as far as I could gather. Perhaps that was why he found it so strange when I started talking to him.
Kevin was smarter than I was, though. When he heard a voice that didn't belong to him echoing around in his head, he went to see a doctor. It took a while, but eventually he got the treatment they said he needed -- a tiny little off-white pill that lets him live pretty much as he did before. His wife isn't scared of him now. His kids got their dad back.
Now when I shout and scream at him, but he doesn't hear me. It gets a little lonely, talking to myself and knowing that I can't do anything to steer the ship I'm in, and so these days I mostly stay quiet. I'd tell him that he doesn't need the pills anymore, if I could -- that I'll behave, and entertain myself quietly while he goes about his day -- but his medication wouldn't let the message get through even if I thought he'd believe me. I do wish that I'd been more subtle, though. Maybe then he wouldn't have got so spooked. Maybe then I'd have someone to talk to, except for the voice in my own head that never really goes away.
I wonder who it belonged to, and what I did to hurt her. | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF! | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | "Wait where am I? Why can't I move? Why can't I see anything?"
I struggled and tried to move but I couldn't. After what felt like hours light filled my eyes. I didn't open as much they opened on there own. I began to get up and move around an apartment but I wasn't in control. I quickly realized I was not in my own body but watching someone else through there eyes. Quite a strange experience to say the least and soon I became curious, could I communicate with this person? He was at work by now so I decided that it'd be best to try when he was alone, so I waited until his morning bathroom break.
"Hey, you, who are you?"
He looked left then right, I think he knew that my voice didn't come from outside of hum.
"Hey man, I'm like in your head or something"
"R-R-Really?" He asked out loud, I couldn't read his thoughts but I could hear him.
"Yeah man I'm up just chilling up here, where am I? Who are you?"
"OOkaayy... I'm George... George Alberts. We're at my job, I'm just a desk monkey for an accounting firm."
"Cool, I'm just going to chill out."
The weeks went by every once in a while, when he was alone, I'd chat with George. He was a nice guy, a little boring but nice. After about a month George snuck off to the bathroom, checked to make sure the coast was clear and said:
"Hey head voice man"
"Yeah"
"I think we need to stop our little talks, it's starting to drive me mad"
I felt really bad for him, just a normal dude with some random disembodied voice in his head.
"Okay man I understand, I'll be quiet."
"Thanks"
Over the next few months I sat there still, alone. George lived his life and at least he had a good taste in TV and movies. He had a good group of friends and I felt like I began to know them, Even though I knew I couldn't. I needed some fun of my own, anything at all.
I started to mess with George, bothered him a bit. A little scare hear and there, a noise that he was never sure if it was real. I'd whisper things to him.
I'd prod him at work. "George, George, you know you're insane"
He'd reply in a quite mutter and shake is head.
I did my best to keep him up at night, he was starting to lose sleep. He'd go to work groggy and it began to affect his work. Then, one day after a particularly rough night, he got fired.
"George you piece of shit, getting fired from your job. It's your fault"
"Just go away"
"Make me, or can you even do that"
"Stop please"
"No, you're worthless"
"No I'm not, now so damn it."
"I'll keep going until you completely lose it."
The more I played the father I wanted to push him, how far could he go? I intended to find out. one day while he was walking to job interview I started really pushing him.
"Why don't you just push that kid into the street?"
No response
"Come on, do it"
"No" He whispered
"Pussy"
He only grimaced at that last response. During his interview I just screamed at him. All he could do was stutter.
"You bastard you ruined that for me! What am I supposed to do now?"
"Well you could get a gun and just shoot up the place?"
"No no stop, no" He sobbed
I prodded on, until he finally gave in.
George was good man, I regret what I did to him. Driving him insane, like me. I should have just let him be, if I knew how boring a white padded room could be, I wouldn't have played my game. | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | "Pst, hey you, scatter-brain, got a few questions for you." Are people still saying Pst ? I suppose it doesn't matter, given I'm not technically a person anymore, as far as I can tell. Not to get too extistenial on you, but I appeared to be simply, a consciousness. It's an altogether unsettling feeling to not be able to perceive yourself as anything more than a disembodied voice. Point being, forgive me for the Pst usage.
"No, no, no, no, no. You aren't real, Dr. Gaberman says you aren't real and that I shouldn't even acknowledge you."
Dr. Gaberman, and I'm being accused of not being real, be more of a cliche.
"Look, kid, I'm not trying to upset you here, but it would appear that we are stuck with each other. Just trying to get a bit of a dialogue going. Seems like the healthy way to build a relationship, right ? Surely Gabe would approve."
"Wait, you're not like the others. Are you from another planet ?"
"Ease up on the cliches there, cowboy. My name is Saul, and up until very recently I was most definitely a person. Although I'm having a bit of an identity crisis at the moment mate, I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure I, well, exist. But where are my manners, and your name is ?"
"Dean, my name is Dean. I don't understand, you're a person ? This isn't right at all, no, no, no, no, no."
I had to admit, he was on to something. Things did not feel exactly right, I had a distinct feeling that I wasn't supposed to know what I knew. But I knew it, so sue me; might as well roll with the punches.
"Enough with the Rainman stuff, Dean, I'm not Dr. Gaberhouse, but i don't think it's advisable to bang your head like that either."
It would appear that I was aware, in a somewhat abstract way, of this Dean kid. Just to clarify, he wasn't speaking out loud. I mean, why would you address the voice in your head out loud ? This isn't a movie.
"Gaberman, Dr. Gaberman. He says that you aren't real."
"Bit rude of him, he doesn't know anything about me."
"Not you, you, you as in the all of, you, you. I hear voices in my head, but that's not normal and the voices aren't real."
"Well, real is relative at this stage. I don't mean to alarm you, but I have a distinct feeling that I'm dead. But why do I end up banging around in your noggin. Do you know a Saul Tefler ?"
I could use my new perception of Dean super-power to sense that he was beginning to become agitated.
"I don't know you and you aren't real. I'm late for my appointment. Dr. Gaberman always worries when I'm late."
This is where it gets weird. It would appear that I was merely a passenger in our charming protagonist's mind. As he was presumably in transit, he seemed to be focusing very hard on other things. I wouldn't say I disappeared, but the line went a bit fuzzy.
Finally, my ride took me to the famous Dr. Gabelstein. All of a sudden, lights, camera, action.
"It's Gaberman !" This time he did say it out loud, genius this kid, picks in front of the shrink to start verbalising.
"That's right, Dean, it's me. But I'm your friend, remember, your **real** friend. Listen, Dean, I have something very serious to discuss with you, I really need you to concentrate for a minute, please. Do you remember the accident ?"
"I... No, what accident ? Why do you keep bringing up an accident. I have voices in my head, fix me !"
"Calm down please, Dean. Sit, relax. I need you to pretend that you remember the accident, because there is some very serious news I need to discuss with you. The other man, the one in the coma, his family decided to turn off his life support today. The other man in the accident, you remember now ?"
One of us certainly did, well shit... | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | When I woke up I was in someone else's head. It took me a while to realize. At first I thought it was a long and vivid dream. I was following a little boy around as he lived his life. I could see him wake up in the morning and go to eat his breakfast. I could see him being driven to school and playing football in the breaks. I was content to watch, and to wait for me to wake up. I had often experienced these long dreams before the addiction, and I kind of liked them actually. That I was experiencing them now had to mean that I was getting better.
But the dream did not stop. Day after day I could see the boy, whose name was Peter as I discovered quickly, live his life. Can dreams really last this long, I wondered again and again. After about a month I decided they couldn't. By now I really felt like I knew Peter. I was with him the whole time, observing, and was used to all his quirks. The way he would wash his hands before going to bed. How he loved to lie under the covers and read long after his mother had told him to go to bed. Which girls at school he followed with his gaze.
So one night I decided to speak up. Something was up with Peter. He was trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but I could feel he felt something was wrong. During dinner, he talked a lot less than he usually did, and his eyes seemed to zone out while watching TV. In the evening he lay awake not reading, but simply focusing on the ceiling.
"Is something amiss, Peter?", I asked cautiously. He twitched immediately. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't mean to disturb you.", I continued. "Who are you?", he asked. The funny thing is, I didn't really remember who I had been before I had woken up in Peters head. I simply didn't know who I was. "What matters is that I am with you now", I answered. Suddenly the door was yanked open. Peters mother was standing there in her night gown, looking alarmed. "I heard you talking. Is someone in here with you?", she asked, frowning. "No, I don't think so... I was just...", Peter stammered. His mother started to smile. "Talking in you sleep? Ah, I see. Good night then, Peter."
"You're not real!", Peter whispered angrily. "I am just as real as you, Peter", I responded. "Well, I don't want to talk to you ever again!", Peter said, upset. "So be it", I responded and shut up. I started observing again, and did so for a long time. Some years passed. Peter was growing up quickly. Mostly I was content just watching his life unravel. Sometimes, however, I would tell him things he missed. Once, for example, Peter did not know the answer for an exam question. I whispered it quietly. He nodded and wrote the answer. Once I encouraged Peter to go talk to a beautiful girl. He would never have had the courage to do it normally, but I was there for him.
After a while, Peter started answering me, asking me for clarifications or just thanking me. It felt like we were closer than ever. But all good things must come to an end, and one day Peter slipped up. He was being berated by a teacher for being late again, and I comforted him. Peter responded, thanking me for the support. Suddenly the class room was deadly quiet. Everyone was looking at Peter. "Who were you talking to just there?", the teacher asked suspiciously. Peter shrugged. "No one." The teacher looked confused. "I will talk to you after class", she said.
During the whole class, I was just as nervous as Peter. He tapped his foot and failed to focus, I was talking about what this meant. Did they think my Peter was mentally ill? I could not bear the thought of him being put away. I wanted to protect Peter. So I convinced him to bolt after class. And he did. Just as we were walking out the door, however, the teacher turned around and locked his eyes on Peter. She began to follow him. "Run, Peter!", I shouted. Peter took the nearest staircase up, but the teacher was close behind. "Peter, they are going to put you away for ever!", I exclaimed. I could feel Peter panicking, his breathing was quicker and quicker. "You need to escape, Peter!", I pressed on. But he was to tired. We had reached the roof of the school, a place usually empty. I could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of the teacher, and others. There were hundreds of them. "Don't do it, Peter!", they were shouting.
Peter, meanwhile, stumbled towards the edge of the roof. It dawned on me what he was going to do. "No, stop, Peter! This was not what I meant!". But Peter just sighed. "I do not want to be put away", he cried. He closed his eyes. All turned black. And he never opened them again.
EDIT: Fixed spelling mistakes. Also, please note Peter does not have Schizophrenia but an actual person stuck in his head. :) | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | In a way, the pills got me twice.
The first time was my fault -- at least, from an outside perspective, although that's not what it felt like at the time. I had laid them out in a nice, neat grid, first twenty-four in a single line and then two rows of twelve and then three rows of eight, doing my best to put it off for as long as I could, but the longer I spent playing with the little white tablets the more frustrated I became.
*Coward*, the little voice in my head said. *You're just delaying the inevitable. If you're not going to do it properly, why even bother pretending?*
It was a little after midnight when I started drinking them down, swallowing each one with a little sip of vodka that burned my throat. *Should have gone with water*, I thought after the ninth or tenth pill, but by that point I got the feeling that if I stood up to go to the kitchen I'd probably call someone to take me to the hospital, and then they'd pump my stomach and everyone would look at me like I was an idiot and in three months I'd just end up wandering out into traffic or throwing myself under a train -- no one would give me another prescription for sleeping pills after this, not a chance -- and that seemed like a much messier way to go out.
I woke up three days later inside someone else's head.
His name was Kevin, which took some getting used to for both of us. He was a builder who lived on the other side of the country, a nice family man who had never shown any sign of being anything less than normal, as far as I could gather. Perhaps that was why he found it so strange when I started talking to him.
Kevin was smarter than I was, though. When he heard a voice that didn't belong to him echoing around in his head, he went to see a doctor. It took a while, but eventually he got the treatment they said he needed -- a tiny little off-white pill that lets him live pretty much as he did before. His wife isn't scared of him now. His kids got their dad back.
Now when I shout and scream at him, but he doesn't hear me. It gets a little lonely, talking to myself and knowing that I can't do anything to steer the ship I'm in, and so these days I mostly stay quiet. I'd tell him that he doesn't need the pills anymore, if I could -- that I'll behave, and entertain myself quietly while he goes about his day -- but his medication wouldn't let the message get through even if I thought he'd believe me. I do wish that I'd been more subtle, though. Maybe then he wouldn't have got so spooked. Maybe then I'd have someone to talk to, except for the voice in my own head that never really goes away.
I wonder who it belonged to, and what I did to hurt her. | THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF! | THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | "Pst, hey you, scatter-brain, got a few questions for you." Are people still saying Pst ? I suppose it doesn't matter, given I'm not technically a person anymore, as far as I can tell. Not to get too extistenial on you, but I appeared to be simply, a consciousness. It's an altogether unsettling feeling to not be able to perceive yourself as anything more than a disembodied voice. Point being, forgive me for the Pst usage.
"No, no, no, no, no. You aren't real, Dr. Gaberman says you aren't real and that I shouldn't even acknowledge you."
Dr. Gaberman, and I'm being accused of not being real, be more of a cliche.
"Look, kid, I'm not trying to upset you here, but it would appear that we are stuck with each other. Just trying to get a bit of a dialogue going. Seems like the healthy way to build a relationship, right ? Surely Gabe would approve."
"Wait, you're not like the others. Are you from another planet ?"
"Ease up on the cliches there, cowboy. My name is Saul, and up until very recently I was most definitely a person. Although I'm having a bit of an identity crisis at the moment mate, I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure I, well, exist. But where are my manners, and your name is ?"
"Dean, my name is Dean. I don't understand, you're a person ? This isn't right at all, no, no, no, no, no."
I had to admit, he was on to something. Things did not feel exactly right, I had a distinct feeling that I wasn't supposed to know what I knew. But I knew it, so sue me; might as well roll with the punches.
"Enough with the Rainman stuff, Dean, I'm not Dr. Gaberhouse, but i don't think it's advisable to bang your head like that either."
It would appear that I was aware, in a somewhat abstract way, of this Dean kid. Just to clarify, he wasn't speaking out loud. I mean, why would you address the voice in your head out loud ? This isn't a movie.
"Gaberman, Dr. Gaberman. He says that you aren't real."
"Bit rude of him, he doesn't know anything about me."
"Not you, you, you as in the all of, you, you. I hear voices in my head, but that's not normal and the voices aren't real."
"Well, real is relative at this stage. I don't mean to alarm you, but I have a distinct feeling that I'm dead. But why do I end up banging around in your noggin. Do you know a Saul Tefler ?"
I could use my new perception of Dean super-power to sense that he was beginning to become agitated.
"I don't know you and you aren't real. I'm late for my appointment. Dr. Gaberman always worries when I'm late."
This is where it gets weird. It would appear that I was merely a passenger in our charming protagonist's mind. As he was presumably in transit, he seemed to be focusing very hard on other things. I wouldn't say I disappeared, but the line went a bit fuzzy.
Finally, my ride took me to the famous Dr. Gabelstein. All of a sudden, lights, camera, action.
"It's Gaberman !" This time he did say it out loud, genius this kid, picks in front of the shrink to start verbalising.
"That's right, Dean, it's me. But I'm your friend, remember, your **real** friend. Listen, Dean, I have something very serious to discuss with you, I really need you to concentrate for a minute, please. Do you remember the accident ?"
"I... No, what accident ? Why do you keep bringing up an accident. I have voices in my head, fix me !"
"Calm down please, Dean. Sit, relax. I need you to pretend that you remember the accident, because there is some very serious news I need to discuss with you. The other man, the one in the coma, his family decided to turn off his life support today. The other man in the accident, you remember now ?"
One of us certainly did, well shit... | THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| In a way, the pills got me twice.
The first time was my fault -- at least, from an outside perspective, although that's not what it felt like at the time. I had laid them out in a nice, neat grid, first twenty-four in a single line and then two rows of twelve and then three rows of eight, doing my best to put it off for as long as I could, but the longer I spent playing with the little white tablets the more frustrated I became.
*Coward*, the little voice in my head said. *You're just delaying the inevitable. If you're not going to do it properly, why even bother pretending?*
It was a little after midnight when I started drinking them down, swallowing each one with a little sip of vodka that burned my throat. *Should have gone with water*, I thought after the ninth or tenth pill, but by that point I got the feeling that if I stood up to go to the kitchen I'd probably call someone to take me to the hospital, and then they'd pump my stomach and everyone would look at me like I was an idiot and in three months I'd just end up wandering out into traffic or throwing myself under a train -- no one would give me another prescription for sleeping pills after this, not a chance -- and that seemed like a much messier way to go out.
I woke up three days later inside someone else's head.
His name was Kevin, which took some getting used to for both of us. He was a builder who lived on the other side of the country, a nice family man who had never shown any sign of being anything less than normal, as far as I could gather. Perhaps that was why he found it so strange when I started talking to him.
Kevin was smarter than I was, though. When he heard a voice that didn't belong to him echoing around in his head, he went to see a doctor. It took a while, but eventually he got the treatment they said he needed -- a tiny little off-white pill that lets him live pretty much as he did before. His wife isn't scared of him now. His kids got their dad back.
Now when I shout and scream at him, but he doesn't hear me. It gets a little lonely, talking to myself and knowing that I can't do anything to steer the ship I'm in, and so these days I mostly stay quiet. I'd tell him that he doesn't need the pills anymore, if I could -- that I'll behave, and entertain myself quietly while he goes about his day -- but his medication wouldn't let the message get through even if I thought he'd believe me. I do wish that I'd been more subtle, though. Maybe then he wouldn't have got so spooked. Maybe then I'd have someone to talk to, except for the voice in my own head that never really goes away.
I wonder who it belonged to, and what I did to hurt her. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF! | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | "Pst, hey you, scatter-brain, got a few questions for you." Are people still saying Pst ? I suppose it doesn't matter, given I'm not technically a person anymore, as far as I can tell. Not to get too extistenial on you, but I appeared to be simply, a consciousness. It's an altogether unsettling feeling to not be able to perceive yourself as anything more than a disembodied voice. Point being, forgive me for the Pst usage.
"No, no, no, no, no. You aren't real, Dr. Gaberman says you aren't real and that I shouldn't even acknowledge you."
Dr. Gaberman, and I'm being accused of not being real, be more of a cliche.
"Look, kid, I'm not trying to upset you here, but it would appear that we are stuck with each other. Just trying to get a bit of a dialogue going. Seems like the healthy way to build a relationship, right ? Surely Gabe would approve."
"Wait, you're not like the others. Are you from another planet ?"
"Ease up on the cliches there, cowboy. My name is Saul, and up until very recently I was most definitely a person. Although I'm having a bit of an identity crisis at the moment mate, I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure I, well, exist. But where are my manners, and your name is ?"
"Dean, my name is Dean. I don't understand, you're a person ? This isn't right at all, no, no, no, no, no."
I had to admit, he was on to something. Things did not feel exactly right, I had a distinct feeling that I wasn't supposed to know what I knew. But I knew it, so sue me; might as well roll with the punches.
"Enough with the Rainman stuff, Dean, I'm not Dr. Gaberhouse, but i don't think it's advisable to bang your head like that either."
It would appear that I was aware, in a somewhat abstract way, of this Dean kid. Just to clarify, he wasn't speaking out loud. I mean, why would you address the voice in your head out loud ? This isn't a movie.
"Gaberman, Dr. Gaberman. He says that you aren't real."
"Bit rude of him, he doesn't know anything about me."
"Not you, you, you as in the all of, you, you. I hear voices in my head, but that's not normal and the voices aren't real."
"Well, real is relative at this stage. I don't mean to alarm you, but I have a distinct feeling that I'm dead. But why do I end up banging around in your noggin. Do you know a Saul Tefler ?"
I could use my new perception of Dean super-power to sense that he was beginning to become agitated.
"I don't know you and you aren't real. I'm late for my appointment. Dr. Gaberman always worries when I'm late."
This is where it gets weird. It would appear that I was merely a passenger in our charming protagonist's mind. As he was presumably in transit, he seemed to be focusing very hard on other things. I wouldn't say I disappeared, but the line went a bit fuzzy.
Finally, my ride took me to the famous Dr. Gabelstein. All of a sudden, lights, camera, action.
"It's Gaberman !" This time he did say it out loud, genius this kid, picks in front of the shrink to start verbalising.
"That's right, Dean, it's me. But I'm your friend, remember, your **real** friend. Listen, Dean, I have something very serious to discuss with you, I really need you to concentrate for a minute, please. Do you remember the accident ?"
"I... No, what accident ? Why do you keep bringing up an accident. I have voices in my head, fix me !"
"Calm down please, Dean. Sit, relax. I need you to pretend that you remember the accident, because there is some very serious news I need to discuss with you. The other man, the one in the coma, his family decided to turn off his life support today. The other man in the accident, you remember now ?"
One of us certainly did, well shit... | "Wait where am I? Why can't I move? Why can't I see anything?"
I struggled and tried to move but I couldn't. After what felt like hours light filled my eyes. I didn't open as much they opened on there own. I began to get up and move around an apartment but I wasn't in control. I quickly realized I was not in my own body but watching someone else through there eyes. Quite a strange experience to say the least and soon I became curious, could I communicate with this person? He was at work by now so I decided that it'd be best to try when he was alone, so I waited until his morning bathroom break.
"Hey, you, who are you?"
He looked left then right, I think he knew that my voice didn't come from outside of hum.
"Hey man, I'm like in your head or something"
"R-R-Really?" He asked out loud, I couldn't read his thoughts but I could hear him.
"Yeah man I'm up just chilling up here, where am I? Who are you?"
"OOkaayy... I'm George... George Alberts. We're at my job, I'm just a desk monkey for an accounting firm."
"Cool, I'm just going to chill out."
The weeks went by every once in a while, when he was alone, I'd chat with George. He was a nice guy, a little boring but nice. After about a month George snuck off to the bathroom, checked to make sure the coast was clear and said:
"Hey head voice man"
"Yeah"
"I think we need to stop our little talks, it's starting to drive me mad"
I felt really bad for him, just a normal dude with some random disembodied voice in his head.
"Okay man I understand, I'll be quiet."
"Thanks"
Over the next few months I sat there still, alone. George lived his life and at least he had a good taste in TV and movies. He had a good group of friends and I felt like I began to know them, Even though I knew I couldn't. I needed some fun of my own, anything at all.
I started to mess with George, bothered him a bit. A little scare hear and there, a noise that he was never sure if it was real. I'd whisper things to him.
I'd prod him at work. "George, George, you know you're insane"
He'd reply in a quite mutter and shake is head.
I did my best to keep him up at night, he was starting to lose sleep. He'd go to work groggy and it began to affect his work. Then, one day after a particularly rough night, he got fired.
"George you piece of shit, getting fired from your job. It's your fault"
"Just go away"
"Make me, or can you even do that"
"Stop please"
"No, you're worthless"
"No I'm not, now so damn it."
"I'll keep going until you completely lose it."
The more I played the father I wanted to push him, how far could he go? I intended to find out. one day while he was walking to job interview I started really pushing him.
"Why don't you just push that kid into the street?"
No response
"Come on, do it"
"No" He whispered
"Pussy"
He only grimaced at that last response. During his interview I just screamed at him. All he could do was stutter.
"You bastard you ruined that for me! What am I supposed to do now?"
"Well you could get a gun and just shoot up the place?"
"No no stop, no" He sobbed
I prodded on, until he finally gave in.
George was good man, I regret what I did to him. Driving him insane, like me. I should have just let him be, if I knew how boring a white padded room could be, I wouldn't have played my game. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| "Wait where am I? Why can't I move? Why can't I see anything?"
I struggled and tried to move but I couldn't. After what felt like hours light filled my eyes. I didn't open as much they opened on there own. I began to get up and move around an apartment but I wasn't in control. I quickly realized I was not in my own body but watching someone else through there eyes. Quite a strange experience to say the least and soon I became curious, could I communicate with this person? He was at work by now so I decided that it'd be best to try when he was alone, so I waited until his morning bathroom break.
"Hey, you, who are you?"
He looked left then right, I think he knew that my voice didn't come from outside of hum.
"Hey man, I'm like in your head or something"
"R-R-Really?" He asked out loud, I couldn't read his thoughts but I could hear him.
"Yeah man I'm up just chilling up here, where am I? Who are you?"
"OOkaayy... I'm George... George Alberts. We're at my job, I'm just a desk monkey for an accounting firm."
"Cool, I'm just going to chill out."
The weeks went by every once in a while, when he was alone, I'd chat with George. He was a nice guy, a little boring but nice. After about a month George snuck off to the bathroom, checked to make sure the coast was clear and said:
"Hey head voice man"
"Yeah"
"I think we need to stop our little talks, it's starting to drive me mad"
I felt really bad for him, just a normal dude with some random disembodied voice in his head.
"Okay man I understand, I'll be quiet."
"Thanks"
Over the next few months I sat there still, alone. George lived his life and at least he had a good taste in TV and movies. He had a good group of friends and I felt like I began to know them, Even though I knew I couldn't. I needed some fun of my own, anything at all.
I started to mess with George, bothered him a bit. A little scare hear and there, a noise that he was never sure if it was real. I'd whisper things to him.
I'd prod him at work. "George, George, you know you're insane"
He'd reply in a quite mutter and shake is head.
I did my best to keep him up at night, he was starting to lose sleep. He'd go to work groggy and it began to affect his work. Then, one day after a particularly rough night, he got fired.
"George you piece of shit, getting fired from your job. It's your fault"
"Just go away"
"Make me, or can you even do that"
"Stop please"
"No, you're worthless"
"No I'm not, now so damn it."
"I'll keep going until you completely lose it."
The more I played the father I wanted to push him, how far could he go? I intended to find out. one day while he was walking to job interview I started really pushing him.
"Why don't you just push that kid into the street?"
No response
"Come on, do it"
"No" He whispered
"Pussy"
He only grimaced at that last response. During his interview I just screamed at him. All he could do was stutter.
"You bastard you ruined that for me! What am I supposed to do now?"
"Well you could get a gun and just shoot up the place?"
"No no stop, no" He sobbed
I prodded on, until he finally gave in.
George was good man, I regret what I did to him. Driving him insane, like me. I should have just let him be, if I knew how boring a white padded room could be, I wouldn't have played my game. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| "Pst, hey you, scatter-brain, got a few questions for you." Are people still saying Pst ? I suppose it doesn't matter, given I'm not technically a person anymore, as far as I can tell. Not to get too extistenial on you, but I appeared to be simply, a consciousness. It's an altogether unsettling feeling to not be able to perceive yourself as anything more than a disembodied voice. Point being, forgive me for the Pst usage.
"No, no, no, no, no. You aren't real, Dr. Gaberman says you aren't real and that I shouldn't even acknowledge you."
Dr. Gaberman, and I'm being accused of not being real, be more of a cliche.
"Look, kid, I'm not trying to upset you here, but it would appear that we are stuck with each other. Just trying to get a bit of a dialogue going. Seems like the healthy way to build a relationship, right ? Surely Gabe would approve."
"Wait, you're not like the others. Are you from another planet ?"
"Ease up on the cliches there, cowboy. My name is Saul, and up until very recently I was most definitely a person. Although I'm having a bit of an identity crisis at the moment mate, I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure I, well, exist. But where are my manners, and your name is ?"
"Dean, my name is Dean. I don't understand, you're a person ? This isn't right at all, no, no, no, no, no."
I had to admit, he was on to something. Things did not feel exactly right, I had a distinct feeling that I wasn't supposed to know what I knew. But I knew it, so sue me; might as well roll with the punches.
"Enough with the Rainman stuff, Dean, I'm not Dr. Gaberhouse, but i don't think it's advisable to bang your head like that either."
It would appear that I was aware, in a somewhat abstract way, of this Dean kid. Just to clarify, he wasn't speaking out loud. I mean, why would you address the voice in your head out loud ? This isn't a movie.
"Gaberman, Dr. Gaberman. He says that you aren't real."
"Bit rude of him, he doesn't know anything about me."
"Not you, you, you as in the all of, you, you. I hear voices in my head, but that's not normal and the voices aren't real."
"Well, real is relative at this stage. I don't mean to alarm you, but I have a distinct feeling that I'm dead. But why do I end up banging around in your noggin. Do you know a Saul Tefler ?"
I could use my new perception of Dean super-power to sense that he was beginning to become agitated.
"I don't know you and you aren't real. I'm late for my appointment. Dr. Gaberman always worries when I'm late."
This is where it gets weird. It would appear that I was merely a passenger in our charming protagonist's mind. As he was presumably in transit, he seemed to be focusing very hard on other things. I wouldn't say I disappeared, but the line went a bit fuzzy.
Finally, my ride took me to the famous Dr. Gabelstein. All of a sudden, lights, camera, action.
"It's Gaberman !" This time he did say it out loud, genius this kid, picks in front of the shrink to start verbalising.
"That's right, Dean, it's me. But I'm your friend, remember, your **real** friend. Listen, Dean, I have something very serious to discuss with you, I really need you to concentrate for a minute, please. Do you remember the accident ?"
"I... No, what accident ? Why do you keep bringing up an accident. I have voices in my head, fix me !"
"Calm down please, Dean. Sit, relax. I need you to pretend that you remember the accident, because there is some very serious news I need to discuss with you. The other man, the one in the coma, his family decided to turn off his life support today. The other man in the accident, you remember now ?"
One of us certainly did, well shit... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
| "Hello?" The darkness is strange and all around me and I am filled with the most terrifying feeling of emptiness. "Hello, is anyone here?" My voice seems to echo.
At last something comes back to me, faintly at first but growing. I can't quite make it out, but as it gets louder (closer?) I can finally hear it. "Go away!"
It sounds like a child and I wonder if I have scared them. "Please, I'm just lost and a little scared myself. I don't know where I am or why I am here."
There is a long pause and finally the child's voice is back. This time loud enough that it could be beside me, but I can't see myself, or anything else. "Please go away. You're in my head and mummy says I can't get better if I speak to you."
I try to work out what the voice, a girl, means. I'm in her head? "Look, I just got here and I don't mean any harm. If I knew how to leave I would, but I don't."
The second voice startles me with it's deep bass. "We're *all* stuck in here brother."
Another voice cuts across this one and I immediately label it 'junky' voice, as it sounds desperate and gibbers slightly as it talks. "Look man, we, we, we just have to get along and hope that it all works out okay? Don't push it man, or things get done and we get the meds again."
There is a rush of voices, dozens maybe hundreds, all shouting about the meds. I try to shout too but my voice is lost and it goes on and on. Time doesn't mean much here but it seems to last for hours before eventually it just, somehow *fades*.
Another voice now, but this one is different, somehow more substantial. It's counting, not conversing but planning something, a meeting perhaps. I decide to try again. "Hello? Look I don;t mean to interrupt but I don't know where I am."
The voice stops and when it finally speaks it's angry. A young furious man, yelling at me in the dark. "Go away, you're not wanted. I can't take my Seroquel until tonight, but I *need* to be clear. Please just go away."
He sounds desperate and I feel sorry for him. I stop talking and listen to him as he plans out the meeting. I don't want to interrupt him, but in the distance I can now hear the voices again, just as muddled as before and incredibly faint, but they're getting louder. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | When I woke up I was in someone else's head. It took me a while to realize. At first I thought it was a long and vivid dream. I was following a little boy around as he lived his life. I could see him wake up in the morning and go to eat his breakfast. I could see him being driven to school and playing football in the breaks. I was content to watch, and to wait for me to wake up. I had often experienced these long dreams before the addiction, and I kind of liked them actually. That I was experiencing them now had to mean that I was getting better.
But the dream did not stop. Day after day I could see the boy, whose name was Peter as I discovered quickly, live his life. Can dreams really last this long, I wondered again and again. After about a month I decided they couldn't. By now I really felt like I knew Peter. I was with him the whole time, observing, and was used to all his quirks. The way he would wash his hands before going to bed. How he loved to lie under the covers and read long after his mother had told him to go to bed. Which girls at school he followed with his gaze.
So one night I decided to speak up. Something was up with Peter. He was trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but I could feel he felt something was wrong. During dinner, he talked a lot less than he usually did, and his eyes seemed to zone out while watching TV. In the evening he lay awake not reading, but simply focusing on the ceiling.
"Is something amiss, Peter?", I asked cautiously. He twitched immediately. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't mean to disturb you.", I continued. "Who are you?", he asked. The funny thing is, I didn't really remember who I had been before I had woken up in Peters head. I simply didn't know who I was. "What matters is that I am with you now", I answered. Suddenly the door was yanked open. Peters mother was standing there in her night gown, looking alarmed. "I heard you talking. Is someone in here with you?", she asked, frowning. "No, I don't think so... I was just...", Peter stammered. His mother started to smile. "Talking in you sleep? Ah, I see. Good night then, Peter."
"You're not real!", Peter whispered angrily. "I am just as real as you, Peter", I responded. "Well, I don't want to talk to you ever again!", Peter said, upset. "So be it", I responded and shut up. I started observing again, and did so for a long time. Some years passed. Peter was growing up quickly. Mostly I was content just watching his life unravel. Sometimes, however, I would tell him things he missed. Once, for example, Peter did not know the answer for an exam question. I whispered it quietly. He nodded and wrote the answer. Once I encouraged Peter to go talk to a beautiful girl. He would never have had the courage to do it normally, but I was there for him.
After a while, Peter started answering me, asking me for clarifications or just thanking me. It felt like we were closer than ever. But all good things must come to an end, and one day Peter slipped up. He was being berated by a teacher for being late again, and I comforted him. Peter responded, thanking me for the support. Suddenly the class room was deadly quiet. Everyone was looking at Peter. "Who were you talking to just there?", the teacher asked suspiciously. Peter shrugged. "No one." The teacher looked confused. "I will talk to you after class", she said.
During the whole class, I was just as nervous as Peter. He tapped his foot and failed to focus, I was talking about what this meant. Did they think my Peter was mentally ill? I could not bear the thought of him being put away. I wanted to protect Peter. So I convinced him to bolt after class. And he did. Just as we were walking out the door, however, the teacher turned around and locked his eyes on Peter. She began to follow him. "Run, Peter!", I shouted. Peter took the nearest staircase up, but the teacher was close behind. "Peter, they are going to put you away for ever!", I exclaimed. I could feel Peter panicking, his breathing was quicker and quicker. "You need to escape, Peter!", I pressed on. But he was to tired. We had reached the roof of the school, a place usually empty. I could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of the teacher, and others. There were hundreds of them. "Don't do it, Peter!", they were shouting.
Peter, meanwhile, stumbled towards the edge of the roof. It dawned on me what he was going to do. "No, stop, Peter! This was not what I meant!". But Peter just sighed. "I do not want to be put away", he cried. He closed his eyes. All turned black. And he never opened them again.
EDIT: Fixed spelling mistakes. Also, please note Peter does not have Schizophrenia but an actual person stuck in his head. :) | "Hello?" The darkness is strange and all around me and I am filled with the most terrifying feeling of emptiness. "Hello, is anyone here?" My voice seems to echo.
At last something comes back to me, faintly at first but growing. I can't quite make it out, but as it gets louder (closer?) I can finally hear it. "Go away!"
It sounds like a child and I wonder if I have scared them. "Please, I'm just lost and a little scared myself. I don't know where I am or why I am here."
There is a long pause and finally the child's voice is back. This time loud enough that it could be beside me, but I can't see myself, or anything else. "Please go away. You're in my head and mummy says I can't get better if I speak to you."
I try to work out what the voice, a girl, means. I'm in her head? "Look, I just got here and I don't mean any harm. If I knew how to leave I would, but I don't."
The second voice startles me with it's deep bass. "We're *all* stuck in here brother."
Another voice cuts across this one and I immediately label it 'junky' voice, as it sounds desperate and gibbers slightly as it talks. "Look man, we, we, we just have to get along and hope that it all works out okay? Don't push it man, or things get done and we get the meds again."
There is a rush of voices, dozens maybe hundreds, all shouting about the meds. I try to shout too but my voice is lost and it goes on and on. Time doesn't mean much here but it seems to last for hours before eventually it just, somehow *fades*.
Another voice now, but this one is different, somehow more substantial. It's counting, not conversing but planning something, a meeting perhaps. I decide to try again. "Hello? Look I don;t mean to interrupt but I don't know where I am."
The voice stops and when it finally speaks it's angry. A young furious man, yelling at me in the dark. "Go away, you're not wanted. I can't take my Seroquel until tonight, but I *need* to be clear. Please just go away."
He sounds desperate and I feel sorry for him. I stop talking and listen to him as he plans out the meeting. I don't want to interrupt him, but in the distance I can now hear the voices again, just as muddled as before and incredibly faint, but they're getting louder. | |
[WP] You slide an envelope across the table to the person sitting across from you | The outgoing CEO handed me three envelopes and said "keep these close, and open them in times of great need."
"Umm, excuse me?" I asked.
"This is what I had for you," he replied. "When I asked you to come in, to talk about your succession. I prepared these three envelopes. Each contains advice on how to handle severe situations should they arise during your tenure. My predecessor gave three envelopes to me, and now I'm giving three to you."
"Alright, thank you."
I was incredibly confused about the envelopes, but he was old, and this seemed like the sort of thing an old guy would do. Whatever. I put the envelopes in my desk drawer, and promptly forgot about them.
Six months later, we were hit with a huge lawsuit. One of our buildings in San Francisco had collapsed during business hours and they were saying it was our fault for not reviewing building codes. I was at a loss. This kind of thing never happened. In a moment of desperation, I reached into my desk and pulled out the first envelope. Inside it was a single piece of paper with a message:
**Blame your predecessor.**
So I ran with it. I held a press conference immediately, saying that this sort of oversight was the old way of doing things at our company, and from now on we guarantee nothing like it will ever happen again. The media backed off, and we settle out of court with the families of those trapped in the building.
Another year went by, and the SEC caught some of our accountants laundering money. A lot of money. And their investigation revealed it was in more than one country. This was a serious crisis. The entire company could fold from such a catastrophe. Another moment of desperation, and another envelope. This one's message read:
**Restructure the company.**
Once again, I took the envelope's advice. Our accounting and legal offices worldwide were reigned in, so that our national headquarters became the international headquarters, and everyone was switched over to immediate electronic reporting. The accountants to blame were sent to jail, and we got off with nothing but a fine.
Two years later, our New York office saw one of our employees raped by an HR manager. A complete and utter failure of our system. Lawsuits, Media, the whole nine yards. It was terrible. And again I thought of the envelopes. The last two had helped immensely, so I reached into my desk for the final envelope. I opened it up and read the message:
**Prepare three envelopes.** | The cities got its demons, rampant with anarchy when you peel away the glamour. Its also got its dreamers, I'd like to think I'm on the fence.
It was raining, the newspaper boys on the corner fled for shelter, the street market closed up shop, coppers got back into their patty wagons.The cold winter rain made the place a ghost town.
I get to the diner, and there she was, the love of my life, the one who walked into my office and destroyed every concept of what I considered holy.
The first time I saw her, she glowed even in sorrow, her ruby lips and perfect auburn curls, those eyes that pierce right though and put you in a place of divinity. Even her tears were soft, and beckoning of a ever lasting love, as many have fallen on me when I would console her, many a times we would just hold each other.
"My Brendolyn." I say softly.
She glances up, and as always I gasp inside to the beauty and Grace of her. She looks at the envelope in my hands, "is that it?"
"Yeah, and it isn't pretty." I shouldn't said it, but deep down I wanted to put the last nails in the coffin in some way.
"Let me see."
I slide the envelope over, she opens it up and gasps in horror.
"Yup its all there... that's them playing patty cake... that's them doing the machirana... and that's your husband philandering with miscreants in various shady places."
"This is enough to sue him for everything he's got? "
"Oh Yeah, and some criminal charges of grand philandering."
"We can finally run off together!"
We whisk away together, and run to the train station, we are in disbelief our dreams are coming true, our hands bound to one another afraid we were living a dream, and that if we let go we'd fade away.
The train rolls up, our heart's pound, "this is it!" We hold each other tightly, pull back to see each other, her eyes bringing me to heaven, and we press our lips together so hard you crush a diamond. We walk into train that way, and journey to our white picket fence dream life.
The end. :-)) | |
[WP] You slide an envelope across the table to the person sitting across from you | You’d be hard-pressed to call it a table. Three legs and a board, more rhombus than square, ominous splinters sticking out of every corner. Still, it did its job. Marisha was shivering. In part because of the damp, musty walls surrounding her and Yusef, and in part due to her nerves, shot to hell after the horrors of the past year.
“Here it is,” she said, surprised at the powerful, stern voice that had come out of her mouth. She slid a makeshift newspaper envelope across the table. “It’s all there. You can count it, if you want.”
Yusef leaned back, barely acknowledging the packet. He was not yet twenty, and a short man, but his posture and carefree hand movements were that of a much older man, a man who understood power. His fingernails were clean, his face freshly shaven, his eyes bright, unlike most of the men Marisha encountered these days. Maybe this was why she found him so off-putting. He was visibly thriving while the rest of them were so wretched, so dirty and hopeless.
Yusef didn’t seem hopeless in the least. His secret underground lair, 20 metres underneath what used to be Mr. Goldstejn’s pharmacy, had been lovingly decorated, almost as with woman's touch. Gold-framed photographs of happier times, a bouquet of wilting roses, a too-big oriental carpet, though frayed on all edges. All just things. But *things* were all anyone wanted these days. And that was why she was here.
“Remember the library, Marisha?” he mused distractedly, a grin on his face.
“I remember those notes you kept putting on my desk, and in between my books,” she responded, masking her disgust, her mistrust, with a cautious smile. “Things were different then.”
Before *they* had arrived. When the library had still been her safe haven, her home. When learning meant something. Now all that mattered was food. And health. And her father.
“Hand them over now, Yusef,” she urged, leaning forward.
He ignored her. “I liked you. You always seemed so confident. Like you knew what you wanted. But you never gave me the time of day, even though we both know you’re a bit plain. Plainer now than ever, in fact. I’m looking a lot more suitable to you now, am I not? Look at you now,” he went on, eyeing Marisha’s tattered green dress, her faded yellow Star of David, and filthy bare feet. “Guess you’d go out with me now, eh?”
“I liked you fine. I need to get back home. Hand them over.” Her knees went weak. It wasn’t the hunger. “We agreed to the trade. It’s also the only human thing to do.”
The medicine. She needed the medicine.
“I”ll do anything, okay. Just quit it with the games. And I’m not above blackmail, you know. My good conscience went down the toilet when my mom died. Or when they shot Jakub over a measly piece of rotten bread. When they took away my bible. Just hand it over and your secret’s safe.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’d tell anyone about my secret … em … business. The Gestapo likes to shoot the messenger, too. Target practice,” he snarled, casually placing his feet on the not-a-table.
“We’ll see about that,” Marisha said, now slinking towards the hatch: an empty threat, but at least she was taking a stand. But she’d never been able to manipulate men before. But maybe things had changed. Maybe the Germans had changed her.
“Just hand it over and your secret's safe,” she repeated. She’d learned this in law school. Be straight and to the point. Never waver.
When he pulled a blunted, rusty knife from his belt, she knew. She knew he had never intended to give her anything. Never intended anything but a game, a sort of sick retribution for having rebuffed him so many years before. It had been a trap all along.
Still, we was surprised, panicked, when blood began to spread across her dress, dripping down her legs onto her feet. Everything went black.
She finally heard Yusef pick up the envelope. “Sorry for this, but I didn’t get my shipment in, and I needed the cash. A group of us, we’ve got a contact on the outside. Wants to be paid up-front. First passports – and then Palest –“
He broke off mid-word, sharply inhaling. “Needed it at 17:00. I *needed* it. I can’t, I can’t ... Marisha. MARISHA! What is this?” White strips of blank paper, tied together with a tweed string. No cash.
And Marisha’s last thought was not of her father or medicine, of god or of pain. It was schadenfreude. Where did he think she’d get that kind of money from anyways?
He turned around and saw her on the floor, eyes open and in a pool of her own blood
And then that knock. That knock everyone knew so well. The deafening thud that announced something terrible was about to happen. “Gestapo, *AUFMACHEN*!”
| The cities got its demons, rampant with anarchy when you peel away the glamour. Its also got its dreamers, I'd like to think I'm on the fence.
It was raining, the newspaper boys on the corner fled for shelter, the street market closed up shop, coppers got back into their patty wagons.The cold winter rain made the place a ghost town.
I get to the diner, and there she was, the love of my life, the one who walked into my office and destroyed every concept of what I considered holy.
The first time I saw her, she glowed even in sorrow, her ruby lips and perfect auburn curls, those eyes that pierce right though and put you in a place of divinity. Even her tears were soft, and beckoning of a ever lasting love, as many have fallen on me when I would console her, many a times we would just hold each other.
"My Brendolyn." I say softly.
She glances up, and as always I gasp inside to the beauty and Grace of her. She looks at the envelope in my hands, "is that it?"
"Yeah, and it isn't pretty." I shouldn't said it, but deep down I wanted to put the last nails in the coffin in some way.
"Let me see."
I slide the envelope over, she opens it up and gasps in horror.
"Yup its all there... that's them playing patty cake... that's them doing the machirana... and that's your husband philandering with miscreants in various shady places."
"This is enough to sue him for everything he's got? "
"Oh Yeah, and some criminal charges of grand philandering."
"We can finally run off together!"
We whisk away together, and run to the train station, we are in disbelief our dreams are coming true, our hands bound to one another afraid we were living a dream, and that if we let go we'd fade away.
The train rolls up, our heart's pound, "this is it!" We hold each other tightly, pull back to see each other, her eyes bringing me to heaven, and we press our lips together so hard you crush a diamond. We walk into train that way, and journey to our white picket fence dream life.
The end. :-)) | |
[WP] You slide an envelope across the table to the person sitting across from you | The outgoing CEO handed me three envelopes and said "keep these close, and open them in times of great need."
"Umm, excuse me?" I asked.
"This is what I had for you," he replied. "When I asked you to come in, to talk about your succession. I prepared these three envelopes. Each contains advice on how to handle severe situations should they arise during your tenure. My predecessor gave three envelopes to me, and now I'm giving three to you."
"Alright, thank you."
I was incredibly confused about the envelopes, but he was old, and this seemed like the sort of thing an old guy would do. Whatever. I put the envelopes in my desk drawer, and promptly forgot about them.
Six months later, we were hit with a huge lawsuit. One of our buildings in San Francisco had collapsed during business hours and they were saying it was our fault for not reviewing building codes. I was at a loss. This kind of thing never happened. In a moment of desperation, I reached into my desk and pulled out the first envelope. Inside it was a single piece of paper with a message:
**Blame your predecessor.**
So I ran with it. I held a press conference immediately, saying that this sort of oversight was the old way of doing things at our company, and from now on we guarantee nothing like it will ever happen again. The media backed off, and we settle out of court with the families of those trapped in the building.
Another year went by, and the SEC caught some of our accountants laundering money. A lot of money. And their investigation revealed it was in more than one country. This was a serious crisis. The entire company could fold from such a catastrophe. Another moment of desperation, and another envelope. This one's message read:
**Restructure the company.**
Once again, I took the envelope's advice. Our accounting and legal offices worldwide were reigned in, so that our national headquarters became the international headquarters, and everyone was switched over to immediate electronic reporting. The accountants to blame were sent to jail, and we got off with nothing but a fine.
Two years later, our New York office saw one of our employees raped by an HR manager. A complete and utter failure of our system. Lawsuits, Media, the whole nine yards. It was terrible. And again I thought of the envelopes. The last two had helped immensely, so I reached into my desk for the final envelope. I opened it up and read the message:
**Prepare three envelopes.** | I was in a dusty motel, and took a last swig of my coffee.
The girl immediately pick it up, and looked up at me with the eyes of a deer in the headlights, as I put my coat on.
"It's all yours, kiddo."
I gathered my belongings and walked out to my car. A voice called out behind me. A soft, scared voice.
"Wh-what am I supposed to do?"
"Eh, you'll make use of it."
I clicked in my keys and started the engine. Pulling out onto the road, I could see the girl, at the door, staring after me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I went back into the motel. The envelope's contents were still on the table.
*Letter of Confirmation: Transfer of Property Ownership to Susan A Golding*
| |
[WP] You slide an envelope across the table to the person sitting across from you | The outgoing CEO handed me three envelopes and said "keep these close, and open them in times of great need."
"Umm, excuse me?" I asked.
"This is what I had for you," he replied. "When I asked you to come in, to talk about your succession. I prepared these three envelopes. Each contains advice on how to handle severe situations should they arise during your tenure. My predecessor gave three envelopes to me, and now I'm giving three to you."
"Alright, thank you."
I was incredibly confused about the envelopes, but he was old, and this seemed like the sort of thing an old guy would do. Whatever. I put the envelopes in my desk drawer, and promptly forgot about them.
Six months later, we were hit with a huge lawsuit. One of our buildings in San Francisco had collapsed during business hours and they were saying it was our fault for not reviewing building codes. I was at a loss. This kind of thing never happened. In a moment of desperation, I reached into my desk and pulled out the first envelope. Inside it was a single piece of paper with a message:
**Blame your predecessor.**
So I ran with it. I held a press conference immediately, saying that this sort of oversight was the old way of doing things at our company, and from now on we guarantee nothing like it will ever happen again. The media backed off, and we settle out of court with the families of those trapped in the building.
Another year went by, and the SEC caught some of our accountants laundering money. A lot of money. And their investigation revealed it was in more than one country. This was a serious crisis. The entire company could fold from such a catastrophe. Another moment of desperation, and another envelope. This one's message read:
**Restructure the company.**
Once again, I took the envelope's advice. Our accounting and legal offices worldwide were reigned in, so that our national headquarters became the international headquarters, and everyone was switched over to immediate electronic reporting. The accountants to blame were sent to jail, and we got off with nothing but a fine.
Two years later, our New York office saw one of our employees raped by an HR manager. A complete and utter failure of our system. Lawsuits, Media, the whole nine yards. It was terrible. And again I thought of the envelopes. The last two had helped immensely, so I reached into my desk for the final envelope. I opened it up and read the message:
**Prepare three envelopes.** | I slid the envelope across the table to the most beautiful woman I ever looked at.
"What is this?" She queried.
"Just a little something for the woman I love." I said in my most sappy voice possible. She hated that. I knew that she hated it, so I used the voice whenever possible.
"Cut it out." She said as she gave me her most angry glare, though I could see the smirk at the corner of her lips. She loved surprises.
She opened the envelope. She did it by the side, not the top. One of those things that only I remembered. One of our little secrets.
She pulled out the short letter and read it in her head. A small tear came to the corner of her eye. That illuminating smile widened across her face. She looked over to where I had crouched on one knee. I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out the velvet hard case that held the ring she had been eyeing for months.
"Yes, John. Yes I will." | |
[WP] You slide an envelope across the table to the person sitting across from you | You’d be hard-pressed to call it a table. Three legs and a board, more rhombus than square, ominous splinters sticking out of every corner. Still, it did its job. Marisha was shivering. In part because of the damp, musty walls surrounding her and Yusef, and in part due to her nerves, shot to hell after the horrors of the past year.
“Here it is,” she said, surprised at the powerful, stern voice that had come out of her mouth. She slid a makeshift newspaper envelope across the table. “It’s all there. You can count it, if you want.”
Yusef leaned back, barely acknowledging the packet. He was not yet twenty, and a short man, but his posture and carefree hand movements were that of a much older man, a man who understood power. His fingernails were clean, his face freshly shaven, his eyes bright, unlike most of the men Marisha encountered these days. Maybe this was why she found him so off-putting. He was visibly thriving while the rest of them were so wretched, so dirty and hopeless.
Yusef didn’t seem hopeless in the least. His secret underground lair, 20 metres underneath what used to be Mr. Goldstejn’s pharmacy, had been lovingly decorated, almost as with woman's touch. Gold-framed photographs of happier times, a bouquet of wilting roses, a too-big oriental carpet, though frayed on all edges. All just things. But *things* were all anyone wanted these days. And that was why she was here.
“Remember the library, Marisha?” he mused distractedly, a grin on his face.
“I remember those notes you kept putting on my desk, and in between my books,” she responded, masking her disgust, her mistrust, with a cautious smile. “Things were different then.”
Before *they* had arrived. When the library had still been her safe haven, her home. When learning meant something. Now all that mattered was food. And health. And her father.
“Hand them over now, Yusef,” she urged, leaning forward.
He ignored her. “I liked you. You always seemed so confident. Like you knew what you wanted. But you never gave me the time of day, even though we both know you’re a bit plain. Plainer now than ever, in fact. I’m looking a lot more suitable to you now, am I not? Look at you now,” he went on, eyeing Marisha’s tattered green dress, her faded yellow Star of David, and filthy bare feet. “Guess you’d go out with me now, eh?”
“I liked you fine. I need to get back home. Hand them over.” Her knees went weak. It wasn’t the hunger. “We agreed to the trade. It’s also the only human thing to do.”
The medicine. She needed the medicine.
“I”ll do anything, okay. Just quit it with the games. And I’m not above blackmail, you know. My good conscience went down the toilet when my mom died. Or when they shot Jakub over a measly piece of rotten bread. When they took away my bible. Just hand it over and your secret’s safe.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’d tell anyone about my secret … em … business. The Gestapo likes to shoot the messenger, too. Target practice,” he snarled, casually placing his feet on the not-a-table.
“We’ll see about that,” Marisha said, now slinking towards the hatch: an empty threat, but at least she was taking a stand. But she’d never been able to manipulate men before. But maybe things had changed. Maybe the Germans had changed her.
“Just hand it over and your secret's safe,” she repeated. She’d learned this in law school. Be straight and to the point. Never waver.
When he pulled a blunted, rusty knife from his belt, she knew. She knew he had never intended to give her anything. Never intended anything but a game, a sort of sick retribution for having rebuffed him so many years before. It had been a trap all along.
Still, we was surprised, panicked, when blood began to spread across her dress, dripping down her legs onto her feet. Everything went black.
She finally heard Yusef pick up the envelope. “Sorry for this, but I didn’t get my shipment in, and I needed the cash. A group of us, we’ve got a contact on the outside. Wants to be paid up-front. First passports – and then Palest –“
He broke off mid-word, sharply inhaling. “Needed it at 17:00. I *needed* it. I can’t, I can’t ... Marisha. MARISHA! What is this?” White strips of blank paper, tied together with a tweed string. No cash.
And Marisha’s last thought was not of her father or medicine, of god or of pain. It was schadenfreude. Where did he think she’d get that kind of money from anyways?
He turned around and saw her on the floor, eyes open and in a pool of her own blood
And then that knock. That knock everyone knew so well. The deafening thud that announced something terrible was about to happen. “Gestapo, *AUFMACHEN*!”
| A look of bewilderment fell upon his face. I sat there, nonchalantly, just waiting.
"And what am I supposed to do with this?" He asked staring down at the white envelope.
"Whatever you want to do with it, man." I responded keeping my face void of all expression.
"Well, what if I don't want to open it?"
"You don't have to. That's completely up to you."
He sat there motionless, pondering over what the significance of this parcel could be. Time ticked by but still no movement. I, however, could barely contain myself. What if he opened it while I was still here? Or worse yet...what if he opened it while I wasn't still here? Revenge could be calculated and swift if I give him time alone. Yes, it's best I'm here for this.
"Can I open it?"
"That's why I gave it to you."
He slowly moved his hands forward and grasped his present by the edges. Looking at me he quickly ripped the top open. That was a poor decision. As glitter spewed forth from the mouth of the envelope I shot up like a bolt of lightning and sprinted out of the room. My cackling echoed off the walls as I ran down the hall, his footsteps getting louder. | |
[WP] You are a mid-level manager in an evil organization, you have to deal with the demands of a super villain while trying to remain on budget and put up with the multitude of nameless minions who keep asking about health insurance, raises, and sick days. | Walter tilted his head slightly, mouth agape, eyes locked on Destructo. He knew better than to talk back to his employer, knew that he was playing with fire by even so much as questioning his decision. Plus, there was also the fact that he was a murderous, diabolical “supervillain,” bent on destroying not only the city, but the entire world. Still, there was absolutely no way they’d make any revenue this quarter with their current spending habits, not to mention that the budget was now all but gone. They had evil shareholders to please, stocks that needed to show some sort of growth, yet they could barely afford to keep the health insurance active for the few remaining minions Destructo hadn’t killed. They’d be slaughtered by Wall Street.
“Are you out of your mind?” Walter said, cursing to himself for his insolence at the same instant. “We can’t afford another Doom’s Day Device. Do you remember the last one, the moon-laser?”
“Yes,” Destructo said, not glancing up from the manila envelope in his hand. His eyes swept side-to-side as he read its contents, mouth concealed by the black mask over his head. He was clearly wearing the same spandex suit he always did, black with an emerald green stripe down the left side. It had cost well over $6,000, which Walter adamantly urged he not purchase. It was just over-priced spandex, just a form-fitting suit with no real special traits. Still, Destructo purchased it on the spot, and then six more as backups. They had to fire two minions to afford it, one of whom had recently bought a new home.
“Then I’m sure you remember that it cost us 4.2 million dollars, which was almost the entire Q3 budget. We had to report almost no earnings to Wall Street. Do you know how hard it was to keep the shareholders from practically rioting? I had to promise them ten more bank heists, which we still haven’t even begun. I mean, the stupid thing didn’t even work in the end, it simply destroyed half of the lair and forced us to sit through yet another OSHA assembly.” Fifty two minions had died that day, but Walter didn’t really want to bring that up quite yet. The wounds will still fresh for him.
“You mean it Destructo’d half the lair,” Destructo corrected, glancing up from the manila folder for a moment before staring back down at it. “Destructo’d it.”
“Right,” Walter sighed, “it ‘Destructo’d’ it. Anyway, we cannot buy another Dooms Day Device—especially not something called a ‘City Flusher.’ What does that even mean? What does it even do? It sounds like a scam.”
“It gathers up water from the area around a city, then floods its streets. Everybody who isn’t a fish dies. The fish probably die too, actually. I’ll have to ask the guy I’m buying it from.”
“Who, exactly, is that?”
“Guy on craigslist,” Destructo said. “Seems like a reliable fella. Won’t tell me his name, but whatever.”
“That’s so stupid,” Walter said, staring at Destructo. He was still reading whatever was inside the folder, which he’d casually pulled out of Walter’s filing cabinet. He mostly kept earnings and salary reports in there, as well as health insurance statements and benefit plans. He was pretty confident that whatever Destructo held went clear over his head. “You’re being scammed. There’s no way that would work. Plus, it costs over 10 million dollars. That’s basically all the funds we have left.”
“Whatever,” Destructo said, “we’re getting it.”
“I—” Walter paused, the door to the room squeaking open. He turned around and stared at the small, yellow-suited minion standing in the entryway, his spandex outfit clearly uncomfortable and unfortunately revealing. “Yes?” he said.
“You told me to come by at 11:30 to discuss a raise,” the minion said, his voice shaking slightly as he glanced up at Destructo.
“Oh,” Walter said. He had completely forgotten about the meeting, which was the god damn fifth one of the week. If the minions weren’t questioning him on their incredibly pathetic health insurance policy and complete lack of dental or vision, they were either pushing for raises or requesting additional sick days. There was no way they could afford any of that, no way they could lose the manpower for even an afternoon. It was a miracle they hadn’t gone on strike yet. “Can you come by later?”
“How much later?” the minion said. “You kinda promised we’d finally do this.”
Walter glanced at Destructo, his eyes still locked on the folder.
“Now’s just not a great time.”
“But I really need this raise. My wife is having a kid and I can’t really survive on $15,000 per year anymore. The risk isn’t really worth it.” He stared down at his arm, which was clearly no longer attached to his body. Instead, a stub poked out of his yellow, spandex suit. Walter had a feeling that probably happened while he was employed by Destructo.
“Please,” Walter sighed, lowering his head into his hands so that they washed out his vision, “please can you just come back later?”
“Well, okay,” the minion said with a weak, defeated voice, followed by the squeak of the door as he closed it behind himself.
“Do you see why we can’t get this City Flusher thing?” Walter said, glancing up at Destructo.
“Sorry?” Destructo said, finally looking up from the envelope and staring straight into Walter’s eyes. “I was just reading through this file. Did you know we spent $43 million on health insurance per year?”
“We don’t,” Walter said, sighing, “that’s $43 thousand. We spend $43 thousand insuring hundreds of minions that put their lives on the line for your every day.”
“If we completely cut that,” Destructo said, ignoring Walter entirely, “we can afford four City Flushers. Let’s do that.”
Walter exhaled heavily and glanced back at the door. He knew he should’ve accepted the position working for Superman, rather than this mistake of a job. At least that guy offered vacation time.
| I will try a Haiku....
Slave to the master
Exploit the poor for profit
Walmart Manager | |
Really excited to hear some good responses! | [WP] Having just been read your fortune and told you have but 24 hours to live, you go on a rampent crime spree. After 24 hours of violent crime, you watch your last few seconds tick away. The clock hits 0:00, signifying the end of 24 hours; and nothing happens. | The witch hobbled through the door, adjusted her tattered cloak - and stopped.
The room had been painted wall to wall in blood - corpses littered the ground.
"You're supposed to be dead."
The man shrugged lightly, tossing an empty handgun to the ground. "And you're supposed to be infallible."
"You can't - I - you were going to get hit by a bus."
"Killed the driver."
"The waiter at the restaurant hadn't washed his ha-"
"The restaurant is gone."
The witch sighed heavily. "And the assassin?"
She received only a sheepish grin.
"Alright, so you win - I guess destinies can be changed. Somewhat. I'm not totally convinced, though - you could die tomorrow, or..."
The man grinned faintly. "Give it up, Maurice." He blinked. "By the way - how long do you have to live?"
She paused for a moment in confusion, pursing her lips. "A few decades. Why?"
He grabbed a bloodied knife off the nearest table. "Wrong." | "Stop--"
He was dead before he hit the floor. Laura smiled, then wept. She threw the knife on the ground. Two minutes left on her watch.
The gas station was deserted, bright lights illuminating the snacks for her and only her. *What a way to end it all*, she thought. Wiping away her tears was useless. Her eyes only flooded again moments later, giving her vision a blurry filter that made it impossible to distinguish what was in front of her. A minute thirty left on the clock.
She left the body for the tantalizing snacks. They were so bright. Compared to what she had done in the last twenty-four hours, one murder for a pack of powdered donuts was nothing.
Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. A minute left.
*Let this be a small comfort*, she prayed to a God she couldn't possibly believe in, *Let me pass away with something tasty to keep me company*. Hysterical laughter whipped out from deep inside her, burning the back of her throat as it came out rough and dry. She fell to her knees, coughing, checking her watch.
Fifteen seconds left on the clock. *Fuck*.
Tears smudged the labels of the bags in front of her, and she reached out at random, picking out what she hoped were powdered donuts. She ripped open the top and drew out a donut, shoving it into her mouth and ignoring the tears and snot that mingled with it along the way. She glanced at her watch and chewed.
Three seconds left on the clock.
She closed her eyes and savored the taste of the powdered sugar, trying to ignore the salty taste of tears and snot that had fallen on the donut. She chewed and waited.
And waited.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see Heaven, or Hell, or nothing at all. The rows and rows of sweets stared back at her. She checked her watch. Zero seconds left on the clock.
Had the voices lied? They'd told her to set the timer for twenty-four hours. Promised her she'd be dead on the very last second, released from the confusion that haunted her day by day. They had *promised*.
She screamed. A car rolled up to a parking spot. She didn't hear as the driver entered the store and began screaming with her. She didn't watch as he fumbled for his cell phone, dialing 911 and sobbing as he choked out a description of what he was seeing.
She screamed. |
Really excited to hear some good responses! | [WP] Having just been read your fortune and told you have but 24 hours to live, you go on a rampent crime spree. After 24 hours of violent crime, you watch your last few seconds tick away. The clock hits 0:00, signifying the end of 24 hours; and nothing happens. | He sat in his torn felt chair, exhausted. It had almost been twenty four hours since the fortune, read as the clock rang twelve midnight. He lifted his wrist to check the time, in his last minute on the earth. Fresh blood dropped from his raw face, stuck with shattered glass. Everything hurt.
45 seconds. Sirens rang through the streets. He turned to glance out the second-story window - or what was left of it. Red, blue, red, blue, across the buildings around him. It was almost like a lullaby, if only he could just sleep.
30 seconds. Screaming, yelling everywhere. It echoed through the silent night, accompanied only by the sirens that grew ever louder. He felt nothing for what he's done. He refused to live his last day anything but to the fullest. But how could he even call it the fullest?
15 seconds. He remembered the faces of the people who he killed. He had been mad. Irrational. Given others the same fate bestowed on him, but why?
10 seconds. His red-stained hands found the pistol that lay on the chipped table beside him. He raised it, but this time, there was no innocent child before him.
5 seconds. Everyone was angry. So loud. The police were breaking through the door. Why couldn't they let him have peace in his final seconds?
3 seconds. He looked at the gun that caused others so much pain.
1 second. He closed his eyes just as the police ran up the stairs. They could never reach him in time.
He waited for his senses to dull. A sharp pain, maybe, then nothing. But it all continued, all too real. The police surrounded him, and for the first time in twenty-four hours he was scared. His watch read zero across the screen. There were guns pointed at him from all angles. They were cautious, as though he were going to kill them all in one shot.
Vomit rushed up his throat, and he choked it back down. In the officers' faces he saw those of his coworkers, neighbors. All dead for petty reasons. He felt sick, nauseous at the realization at what he'd done. He raised the pistol to his mouth.
The clock struck twelve midnight, and the pistol fell to the floor.
EDIT: read the prompt wrong, fixed story. | "Stop--"
He was dead before he hit the floor. Laura smiled, then wept. She threw the knife on the ground. Two minutes left on her watch.
The gas station was deserted, bright lights illuminating the snacks for her and only her. *What a way to end it all*, she thought. Wiping away her tears was useless. Her eyes only flooded again moments later, giving her vision a blurry filter that made it impossible to distinguish what was in front of her. A minute thirty left on the clock.
She left the body for the tantalizing snacks. They were so bright. Compared to what she had done in the last twenty-four hours, one murder for a pack of powdered donuts was nothing.
Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. A minute left.
*Let this be a small comfort*, she prayed to a God she couldn't possibly believe in, *Let me pass away with something tasty to keep me company*. Hysterical laughter whipped out from deep inside her, burning the back of her throat as it came out rough and dry. She fell to her knees, coughing, checking her watch.
Fifteen seconds left on the clock. *Fuck*.
Tears smudged the labels of the bags in front of her, and she reached out at random, picking out what she hoped were powdered donuts. She ripped open the top and drew out a donut, shoving it into her mouth and ignoring the tears and snot that mingled with it along the way. She glanced at her watch and chewed.
Three seconds left on the clock.
She closed her eyes and savored the taste of the powdered sugar, trying to ignore the salty taste of tears and snot that had fallen on the donut. She chewed and waited.
And waited.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see Heaven, or Hell, or nothing at all. The rows and rows of sweets stared back at her. She checked her watch. Zero seconds left on the clock.
Had the voices lied? They'd told her to set the timer for twenty-four hours. Promised her she'd be dead on the very last second, released from the confusion that haunted her day by day. They had *promised*.
She screamed. A car rolled up to a parking spot. She didn't hear as the driver entered the store and began screaming with her. She didn't watch as he fumbled for his cell phone, dialing 911 and sobbing as he choked out a description of what he was seeing.
She screamed. |
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