The Story of My Summer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
a story about a descent into madness, enough said.

Submitted: June 02, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 02, 2010

A A A

A A A


Descent

For me it started in summer. A time of warmth and relaxation started me on the path towards my own destruction. Sunshine and butterflies? Forget it. I’ve always heard the voice, never listened though. I haven’t needed to. I had friends by my side, I listened to them instead. The voice just murmured. A background hum. Annoying but bearable. I thought others heard it to. I asked a friend once. “What does yours sound like?” I thought it was normal, how was I meant to know?

I’ve got no friends left now. They all refuse to be seen with me, let alone acknowledge my existence. They were afraid of being ripped apart, their life being ruined by people that gain power from destroying other people’s lives. They tried to get to me. The freak that hears voices. I started to listen more. Never did as it asked. Ignored requests and carried on. It was like a companion though, always there. Reassuring that someone was. Then I got bored one summer. I kept seeing my old friends a lot. Depressed me slightly for a while. Then it made me angry. I started staying inside more. I ran out of things to do after a while. Nothing is as much fun when you are by yourself. I asked the voice what to do. It replied. Firmly and clearly. A course of direction for my pent up anger and boredom. I didn’t dismiss the idea, not this time. I didn’t even stop to consider if it was a good idea. I just did it. The voice changed, not just in tone. Completely. A whole new person, purring and pleased. I liked this voice. People were looking at me. Wide eyes, staring. My shirt felt wet and sticky. I was holding something. I don’t know what People and houses slipped by. My foot steps barely registered I could have been walking on water for all it mattered. The only way I was aware of my movement was because of the continual passage of the scenery. Nothing else registered, my other senses were blank. Smell, touch, the lot. I was running on auto pilot, not in control. The voice said the people were scared of me. I just nodded in acceptance. The voice could piece things together faster and better then I could. Saved me the bother. Not that my brain was working to well at the moment. The idea that people were scared of me made me happy. Not in the warm fuzzy way. More in the above the clouds breathless way. The friendless freak could scare people by walking down a street. I found the cat three weeks later. Skull smashed in. belly slit from neck to mid abdomen. Innards pulled out, guts, stomach, and lungs forming a stinking pile of rotting flesh. On either side of the slit the long silver fur was matted with congealed blood. It sickened me. Completely and utterly. What reason was there to mutilate and animal in such a macabre and degrading way? Who could do that? The voice only chose to answer my last question. An answer which I refused to believe. I still did as the voice asked though. Only its tone wasn’t so nice anymore. It gave commands, it didn’t ask. The purring had vanished Obeying left huge gaps in my memory. Blank spaces. Periods of time that I could not remember what I had done no matter how hard I wracked my brain. These scared me so I started to resist. Well, tried to. Listening had made it stronger. Far, far stronger than me. I’ve never had any practice in resistance. I've always been happier to swing with other peoples decisions. Sat on the fence as my teacher would have said. Its power terrified me. I’d lost control. All that remained of who I had been was my fear. Fear of the voice. Fear of what it could have asked me to do. It was all consuming, black and ferocious. The blank periods continued. From the outside I looked normal. Well almost. I just didn’t care what I looked like any more. The fear of the voice occupied all of my thoughts. Id stopped washing a while ago. Looking in a mirror I no longer recognised who I was. Fear had distorted my face. I had lines were I didn’t before. My eyes were hollow. Blank pits. No emotion, just a bottomless black. The voice was ruling my life. It didn’t care about hygiene. Or food either. I ate occasionally. Id lost weight. People in the street avoided me. Some even ran when they saw me. Some called me names, only they yelled from a safe distance. Stayed away. The names were meaningless. They just bounced off; other people meant nothing any more. Even the sight of my old friends produced no emotional response. Fear was the only emotion I could feel, I had no room for anything else. My room was a mess. Clothes everywhere, a tangled chaos of clothes and objects, reflecting the chaos inside. The walls and carpet were stained. Random splashes of faded colour, I had no idea what. All my glass figures were smashed, the pieces scattered. A multicoloured rainbow of wasted years. Broken pieces of past dreams. I didn’t bother to tidy up. Neatness was to ordered, I wanted the disorder to stay, made me feel more in balance with the rest of the world. Time stretches endlessly when you have no energy to check the time or date. Weeks, months, years all blur together. Day and night are meaningless. When the voice says jump you do, regardless of whether you are at the top of a ten storey building or not. I briefly woke up recently after the longest blank stretch for a while. I was surrounded by people. They were talking. The words never registered. Just a dull hum in the background. Like the voice was, at the beginning of all this, before it ruined my life. I had trouble focusing on objects. Everything was just a coloured blur. Six people sitting behind a wooden bench took it in turns to speak. A few words each. One at a time. “Guilty” Meaningless. I was chained by my wrists to a metal bar and surrounded by waist height walls on three sides, I had trouble naming the material, I gave up. The walls were wood panelling. A flag hung in the corner. My brain to numb to register the colours and shapes let alone the country. Someone seated in a huge chair said something. They hit their desk. My heart jumped. Painfully. The background murmurs stopped. One wrist was bleeding. I guess I’d jumped as well. My brain heaved itself into action. Swimming through treacle. Words drifted into my head. “Death row” Meaningless. I was sitting in the back of a van, surrounded by metal, overwhelmed by claustrophobia. Wrists re-chained. Armed guards on either side, light from the swinging bulb reflecting off their guns. I had no idea how I’d got there. The heat made my eyes itch, the chain wasn’t long enough to let me rub them. Small pieces of information slowly connected. Like a puzzle that had no image to use. My tortured brain provided an answer. I was being sentenced to death. For murders I don’t remember committing. The voice was silent. Mocking me.

Descent

For me it started in summer. A time of warmth and relaxation started me on the path towards my own destruction. Sunshine and butterflies? Forget it. I’ve always heard the voice, never listened though. I haven’t needed to. I had friends by my side, I listened to them instead. The voice just murmured. A background hum. Annoying but bearable. I thought others heard it to. I asked a friend once. “What does yours sound like?” I thought it was normal, how was I meant to know?

I’ve got no friends left now. They all refuse to be seen with me, let alone acknowledge my existence. They were afraid of being ripped apart, their life being ruined by people that gain power from destroying other people’s lives. They tried to get to me. The freak that hears voices. I started to listen more. Never did as it asked. Ignored requests and carried on. It was like a companion though, always there. Reassuring that someone was. Then I got bored one summer. I kept seeing my old friends a lot. Depressed me slightly for a while. Then it made me angry. I started staying inside more. I ran out of things to do after a while. Nothing is as much fun when you are by yourself. I asked the voice what to do. It replied. Firmly and clearly. A course of direction for my pent up anger and boredom. I didn’t dismiss the idea, not this time. I didn’t even stop to consider if it was a good idea. I just did it. The voice changed, not just in tone. Completely. A whole new person, purring and pleased. I liked this voice. People were looking at me. Wide eyes, staring. My shirt felt wet and sticky. I was holding something. I don’t know what People and houses slipped by. My foot steps barely registered I could have been walking on water for all it mattered. The only way I was aware of my movement was because of the continual passage of the scenery. Nothing else registered, my other senses were blank. Smell, touch, the lot. I was running on auto pilot, not in control. The voice said the people were scared of me. I just nodded in acceptance. The voice could piece things together faster and better then I could. Saved me the bother. Not that my brain was working to well at the moment. The idea that people were scared of me made me happy. Not in the warm fuzzy way. More in the above the clouds breathless way. The friendless freak could scare people by walking down a street. I found the cat three weeks later. Skull smashed in. belly slit from neck to mid abdomen. Innards pulled out, guts, stomach, and lungs forming a stinking pile of rotting flesh. On either side of the slit the long silver fur was matted with congealed blood. It sickened me. Completely and utterly. What reason was there to mutilate and animal in such a macabre and degrading way? Who could do that? The voice only chose to answer my last question. An answer which I refused to believe. I still did as the voice asked though. Only its tone wasn’t so nice anymore. It gave commands, it didn’t ask. The purring had vanished Obeying left huge gaps in my memory. Blank spaces. Periods of time that I could not remember what I had done no matter how hard I wracked my brain. These scared me so I started to resist. Well, tried to. Listening had made it stronger. Far, far stronger than me. I’ve never had any practice in resistance. I've always been happier to swing with other peoples decisions. Sat on the fence as my teacher would have said. Its power terrified me. I’d lost control. All that remained of who I had been was my fear. Fear of the voice. Fear of what it could have asked me to do. It was all consuming, black and ferocious. The blank periods continued. From the outside I looked normal. Well almost. I just didn’t care what I looked like any more. The fear of the voice occupied all of my thoughts. Id stopped washing a while ago. Looking in a mirror I no longer recognised who I was. Fear had distorted my face. I had lines were I didn’t before. My eyes were hollow. Blank pits. No emotion, just a bottomless black. The voice was ruling my life. It didn’t care about hygiene. Or food either. I ate occasionally. Id lost weight. People in the street avoided me. Some even ran when they saw me. Some called me names, only they yelled from a safe distance. Stayed away. The names were meaningless. They just bounced off; other people meant nothing any more. Even the sight of my old friends produced no emotional response. Fear was the only emotion I could feel, I had no room for anything else. My room was a mess. Clothes everywhere, a tangled chaos of clothes and objects, reflecting the chaos inside. The walls and carpet were stained. Random splashes of faded colour, I had no idea what. All my glass figures were smashed, the pieces scattered. A multicoloured rainbow of wasted years. Broken pieces of past dreams. I didn’t bother to tidy up. Neatness was to ordered, I wanted the disorder to stay, made me feel more in balance with the rest of the world. Time stretches endlessly when you have no energy to check the time or date. Weeks, months, years all blur together. Day and night are meaningless. When the voice says jump you do, regardless of whether you are at the top of a ten storey building or not. I briefly woke up recently after the longest blank stretch for a while. I was surrounded by people. They were talking. The words never registered. Just a dull hum in the background. Like the voice was, at the beginning of all this, before it ruined my life. I had trouble focusing on objects. Everything was just a coloured blur. Six people sitting behind a wooden bench took it in turns to speak. A few words each. One at a time. “Guilty” Meaningless. I was chained by my wrists to a metal bar and surrounded by waist height walls on three sides, I had trouble naming the material, I gave up. The walls were wood panelling. A flag hung in the corner. My brain to numb to register the colours and shapes let alone the country. Someone seated in a huge chair said something. They hit their desk. My heart jumped. Painfully. The background murmurs stopped. One wrist was bleeding. I guess I’d jumped as well. My brain heaved itself into action. Swimming through treacle. Words drifted into my head. “Death row” Meaningless. I was sitting in the back of a van, surrounded by metal, overwhelmed by claustrophobia. Wrists re-chained. Armed guards on either side, light from the swinging bulb reflecting off their guns. I had no idea how I’d got there. The heat made my eyes itch, the chain wasn’t long enough to let me rub them. Small pieces of information slowly connected. Like a puzzle that had no image to use. My tortured brain provided an answer. I was being sentenced to death. For murders I don’t remember committing. The voice was silent. Mocking me.


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