This Voice

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It won't go away. It won't! I've tried and I've tried but it just keeps coming back. Like a clingy sibling that no matter how many times you tell to go away just keeps coming back. It whispers in my head. It haunts me, it stalks me. It drives me completely mad! I've tried to silence it. I truly have. But it stays. It stays and whispers "Aaron kill them. Kill them and watch the blood flow." But I resist. I must resist. How could I kill my own parents?

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It has been with me since I was a small child. For as long as I can remember it has been whispering thoughts into my head. At first I thought this voice was a friend. It said nice things to me as the others mocked me. It always kept me company when I was bored mostly caused by being alone. I quickly learned just how wrong I was about this voice.

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It has always been here. Watching, listening, whispering. I learned that this voice was nothing but an enemy. I learned that this voice causes nothing but pain and hatred. I learned that the voice was the reason I had no friends. Why my parents were afraid of me. The reason why I soaked my pillow with tears as I cried myself to sleep, begging god to take the voice away so I could have friends. So I could feel wanted.

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It drove my parents away from me. It made them hate me. It made them fear me. Even now as they sleep in there room directly below mine I can feel their hatred, their fear of me and what I can do. Over the years I have learned that their fear and hatred for me does nothing but feeds the voice. When I make my father scream in terror. When I make my mother break down into tears. When I sense there fear the voice grows. It grows from a small whisper that could be lost in the wind, to a fiery scream as if the devil himself is telling me to commit these evil deeds. And maybe he is. I just don't know anymore.

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It fuels this rage towards mankind. Why couldn't they just accept me? Why did they have to outcast me and feed this voice? I can't sleep at night without wondering, at least once, if I would be like this if they just accepted me. If they made me feel like I belong. But no, they couldn't bring themselves to do me that one kind favor. So now my tortured soul is to be forever haunted by this deafening yet silent voice. Maybe if I give in it will go away. Maybe if I end my parents' lives I can finally have silence in my head. But would it be worth it? Even though they hate me at least they were always there. Even though they ignored me at least they were there. So is it worth taking the lives of the people that birthed and raised me? If it means stopping the voice then the answer it clear. Yes.

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! This voice is the reason I stand at my parents' bed. Watching as they peacefully slumber. Having no clue about the chaos that is about to take them from this life, and move them on to the next. I moved. Slowly. Silently. Trying not to make the old wooden floors creak. Things were bound to be much more difficult if they were awoken. Knife in hand I stand over my father. Watching his chest go in and out with the gentle sounds of his breathing. I put the knife just inches above his beating heart. Ready to strike at any moment.

"Do it." The voice whispers in my head. "Feel the joy of blood on your hands. Feel the joy of knowing those that hate you are now rotting in hell!" I stand there knife mere inches above my father's chest. Just one shove down and this would be over. I can't. I re-align the knife and plunge it into my own chest. The pain is sharp and unbearable at first but slowly numbs as my blood begins pooling around me. my vision fades to black and I lie my head down, never to awaken again.

This voice. This blasted voice. This damned voice! It took everything from me. It made my family hate me. It made is so I could never have friends. It made is so I was considered a freak. Someone to point and laugh at. The voice took everything from me, and now it took the last thing I had left. My life.