Voices

The last entry before her fall...

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Journal #1461

 

"Voices"

 

I can hear them now. Whispering. Shouting. Laughing. Crying. Chanting words in different languages. No matter how much I try to keep them out, they keep getting louder and harder to ignore. It’s as if they want to drive me to the last of my sanity. Worse, I actually respond to them.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. Trapped inside a mental facility for who knows what time I might actually (miraculously - even) get out. It’s not like I’m nuts or someone with a mental disorder. The truth is I don’t know if there’s something wrong with my mind - at least, not that I feel anything. Let’s just say I’m normal… and maybe the only rational one here besides the hospital staff. The doctors were another case. 

 

I don’t go into 'seizures' or 'losing control over my locomotive movements' and definitely not Schizophrenia. No. That’s not it. Let’s just say that I’m just here because I hear ‘stuff’ and also because I'm a kicker. So you see, the problem isn’t me �" but the voices are. And not just any voices but angel voices.

 

​Before you may think that I’m crazy after all or a liar or a devil-worshiper - I’m not. I have to admit that what I hear can’t be described in terms short of beautiful, melodious, magnificent or transcendent. Okay, maybe transcendence might be an okay word for it - besides the fact that they’re just plain perfect tones for voices.  It’s just the words they say that creep me out. To enlighten you out of your confusion, their famous headlines for gossips (as you may name it in our times with the media) were anticipations of war, death, revenge, death, supreme domination and, mostly, apocalyptic bull. Huh. Takes you away from the illusion of cute little angels who don’t even know the words to swear in the first place. From what I hear, they could make a well-worn sailor blush.

 

​The name’s Saoirse, by the way (a common  name - nothing special ). Saoirse McDowell, to be more precise (which of course you don’t need to know but I’m writing it anyway in case someone might want to know about the life I led until tonight). I’m currently 16 and rapidly approaching 17. Still, it’s not like anybody would care. Especially not my parents. No. The last time I saw them was when they happily admitted me here. They didn’t even need to fake the tears. For all I know, those were tears of relief for getting me out their hair and their perfect house with the white picket fences. After all, I was a failure for being an abnormal a troubled child which they can easily correct with another one. Who knows, maybe this time, good ol’ Da would finally get his son.  

I just wish I could see them now.

 

​My Da was a very religious man. He might’ve even won as the pastor last year. Not that I know of since I’ve been here for four years without any means of communication from the outside world. My room doesn’t even have a window. The only upside is my television in which I watch my old Disney DVDs (one of the only links of normalcy that reminded me of a childhood).

 

​ You see, I wasn’t always like this. I had a ‘perfect’ life as a ‘perfect’ little girl note the sarcasm. I have an attentive Da who spoils me and a Ma who spoils me even more. I remember the sweet feel of her brushing my hair until it fell in a silky smooth length. I also had a dog, Fido the Beagle. Yet, it was just paradise - where I'm this naive little girl who had a dog with the most pretentious name. That was, until the voices started.

 

​I was in class, about to recite on an oral report. And then I heard a voice, I thought it was one of my classmates’. I answered back and the next thing I knew, I was scolded and all the kids were laughing at me. This happened for a long time. Until one certain event happened. It was said to be terrible - or supposed to - since I can’t even remember it. All I remembered were my teachers calling my parents in frantic voices. There were even police outside our yard. It was the first time I heard my Da shout at me in Disgust and unconcealed hatred. I tried to explain to him again and again but he won’t hear me out. Instead with a hint of fear, he told me I was a liar a monster and an abomination. I cowered and cried. I turned to my ever-dependable Ma but she took his side. And the voices got worse.

 

​Even before, my DA never believed me when I told him about angels and what they truly are - scary and dangerous who whispers things that happened around me the bloody things. Of course, he’d rather thought I was a very imaginative child who eventually gone loony. And don’t get me started about the possessed theory of his. I had to bathe in holy water for a week. But did it work? No. Even the shrinks can’t find a plausible explanation rather than believing that a heretic an ordinary girl like me can commune with angels.

 

THUMP! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

 

​Lights out. S**t, I’m crying I’m sweating through my eyes. I dip my hand on the cold water of the basin provided for me. I dab my wet hands to my face and my neck. I sat straight on my chair and looked at my reflection. I fix my auburn hair that now reached my waist. It still falls down straight and smooth. Lucky that some of the orderlies had gone to the trouble of brushing my hair. It still shines from the lights with a healthy glow.

​I peeked silently at my back’s reflection in the mirror. Eerie darkness creeps through the intersected ceilings and walls. It reminded me of the dark forbidden forest near my old town. It swallows every light that goes near. Maybe it was the same light that my parents were afraid to lose from me I had now lost.  

 

​I glanced back to my face, examining it thoroughly for the last time. A pale oval-shaped face, wide green deep-set eyes, a small pert nose and full lips currently pinched into a thin line. I stared blankly at those cold, cold eyes with their deep dark depths. Beautiful, mature and lifeless. It seemed time had deserted them. Time had deserted the lass in the mirror. It deserted me.

 

​ I remember the horrid laughter of a room full of kids. Innocence turns to unpleasant realities embarrassment. The clock ticks loudly near the shrink’s table. The heavy allegations and misconceptions. Obscurity masks what dignity was left. The scolding that never seemed to stop. The soft sobs that can’t be smothered comforted. And finally, them.

 

​I can hear them now. Whispering. Shouting. Laughing. Crying. Chanting words in different languages. All this time, no matter how much I try to keep them out, they keep getting louder and harder to ignore. It’s as if they want to drive me to the last of my sanity.  But now, I’m ready to surrender.

 

CAN YOU HEAR ME? I GIVE UP! SO, SHUT UP! SHUT UP......

 

WHOOSH....

 

​The curtains danced like they’re merely ribbons lost dangling at the mercy of the wind. Only, there was no wind. Suddenly, they gracefully went still. They were shaped like nymphs, floating towards me. Trying to take more of what’s left of me. Beckoning me to come and surrender.

 

​I know that they heard me.  I know they’re trying to suck what’s left of my empty black soul. I took it as an opportunity to reach for the sharpened butter-knife I had hidden, preserved for this moment. And finally after two weeks of preparation, buying time to say goodbye to everyone by writing this last journal entry of my life. I can hear them again. Laughing. Shouting. Beckoning me to do it. Do as I had planned.

 

To anyone who may care to read this after I’m gone, please give this to my parents. I know this story would seem surreal. It’s not like they’ll read or even accept it. But a part of me, the little lass who still loves her parents can hope.  

 

 

I surge the knife to my chest. A slight pain follows and then nothing. I cough out blood. A lot of it. Finally, I had done what I had always wanted. Slowly, I lie down on the cold hardwood floor in a supine position after falling from my chair. A loud thump follows.

 

It must’ve been my head hitting on the corner of the desk and to the floor. Yet, I feel nothing. Just numbness masking every pain that passes as my body crumbles into nothing. Blood oozes out of me, forming into a large puddle as they drain the life out of me. All I feel is contentment and rapture. This is a dream come true. A rare smile curves on my lips. Tears of happiness �" of peace.

 

The voices were gone. ​

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