The Voices never stop. Sometimes one, sometimes more, all yelling, all telling me what to do. I don’t want to listen, but I can’t escape. ‘Kill somebody.’ ‘Kill your sister.’ ‘Kill your dog.’
Kill seemed to be the only linking word between their demands. Kill. Kill. Kill. But did I want to kill? Of course, I did. I knew I should, I knew if the Voices told me something I had to obey. They were Gods, weren’t they? Who else talked in my mind? Only Gods. Only gods.
‘Kill your mother.’ ‘Kill that stranger on the street corner.’ ‘Kill, kill, kill!’
I felt like….. Manson. Dreamed about blood splashed on walls and ceiling, dripping like rain to patter the floor red. Maybe I was Manson. Manson re-born… but wait, was he dead? Did he need to be dead to be re-born?
They were getting louder, those voices, harder, meaner; always pulling my mind into corners where I didn’t want to go. But. I. Had.To. Kill.
I just didn’t have to kill those people….