Your voice


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I still remember that night. The night I first became an anguished being.

It was no ordinary night; I had just finished watching the 'Silence of the Lambs', a horrendous film by any standards, for the umpteenth time and was, instead of having the usual nightmare I'd have after watching it, engaged in enjoying a cigarette, under the street light just outside my flat. Well, this is England, and I do find that a cigarette works wonders after a tense film, love it or hate it.

The street was quiet, the houses cast shadows on the pavement, and I was feeling rather worried about a friend of mine, who had gone on a trip to the Serengeti. It's not very often that I feel the need to go to the Serengeti, I have to admit I would like to go there one day, but after watching 'Silence of the Lambs' I'd decided it was best if I didn't.

I could hear soft footsteps on the pavement and I turned to see a young girl walking towards me, she's about seventeen or so, and she was also smoking.

'Hi,' I said, and offered her a cigarette, 'I'm Axl. What's your name?'

'Ah, Falon,' she said, after taking the cigarette and making sure to light it. She had quite an attractive face, and appeared to be quite mature for her age, but she looked nervous. She then pulled out a small notebook and pen from the depths of her bag and began to write.

'Wait, what are you doing?' I asked, a little amused at her.

'This is a questionnaire,' she said, 'I am studying psychology, you are?'

'I'm not really sure, I'm sort of new to the…' She interrupted me.

'Yab-yab-yab, sit down. We have work to do!' she said, a little sternly, and I sat there, rather confused while she started up with her inquisitive tone.

'Now let's get started. When did you first begin to feel afraid of your voice?' she asked, shaking her pen directly at my face.

'I… ah… I'm not sure what you mean,' I said, becoming a little annoyed.

'Answering, "I'm not sure what you mean" to my questions, does not mean you get to go, so answer the question,' she said, harsher this time.

'I mean, I don't understand what my voice has to do with my fear. I mean, what exactly am I afraid of?' I asked, rather forcefully.

'You are a man, and you engaged in a conversation with a young lady, in a public area, I ask you again, what exactly are you afraid of?' she said, almost viciously, before picking up her bag and walking away, spitting at the ground as she walked off.

I stood there with my mouth half open, feeling insulted, and also kind of mad. I lit two more cigarettes, which I put between my lips, and walked off, annoyed at myself for asking her that question.

I had known this girl since 'Silence of the Lambs' came out, and she had been the one who changed me into a nervous wreck. She'd introduced me to the idea of imagining voices that would, quite literally, drive you insane, and the idea had grown rather quickly into a deep-rooted disease. The voices started appearing when I watched the news, and I soon started to get the depressing feeling that something was going to happen to me. It didn't take long to figure out that the voices were real, and I became an anguished being.

For the next year, I spent most of my time in the confines of my reasonably large home, and I barely spoke, except to my friend. This included only when I was in severe pain, or in fear of damaging my mental state. The voices grew worse and I found they were not just in one room of my house, but all over, it was impossible to feel safe.

When other people started to talk to me I pretended I was deaf, or they that weren't talking to me, and I'd never felt anything like that before. It felt like I had been picked on for a lot of my life, and I had never thought of many of the experiences I had ever had as bullying.

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