FOURTEEN, 2.0

The voices, they won’t stop.

Louder and louder, they shout in my head, and near my ears, coaxing the chills down my spine as they hiss and whisper and shout and scream. I don’t know when they’ll stop, or what they want, but they only seem to want yell at me.

This morning, I read two books before I had to snip all of the wires to electronics in my home.

The phone, the internet, even the lights and the pipes under the sink, all snipped.

I walk in water up to my ankles, afraid that if I walk near a window, I’ll see the horrid face behind the voices.

And if I walk outside, I’ll be consumed by the owner of the voice and his powerful army of angry, rotted, foul champions.

I’d like to live a life of silence and solitude, but the fields of quiet are far away.

My eyes were shut for three seconds before the voices BOOMED from above and THUNDERED from below.

This time, there were footsteps on the roof to remind me that they’re more than noises, more than voices in the night.

There are creatures, too, unfriendly and insane, and they’re waiting for me to leave.

But I cannot leave, and I cannot stay, so I must send for help.

I have one friend remaining, and he watches my home every night through the fog.

Tonight, I light my final bundle of books, and my roof, and my home, and hope that my friend finds me among the voices of hate and viciousness.

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