User:Saran.Anandan

They say I’m insane, but I’m not. It’s the voices, I tell you, it’s the voices in my head that’s making me do these.

It all started six months ago. However, the entire incident took place within a one month time frame. It was quick. It was brutal. It was… mad.

It started with them calling out my name. At first I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on myself, and dismissed it as unnecessary paranoia. That changed when they started calling out all the time. They were calling me. Slyly, seductively, suggestively. They were not unlike the way a person would call out to their lover in a night of heated passion.

I must tell you about the voices. Note that I’m using the plural form of the word, as it wasn’t just a single voice. They were a myriad of voices. A choir of mismatched melodies, terrifyingly out of tune. Put together, they formed a hauntingly inconsistent opera that was consistently playing in my head.

At first they whispered. Those whispers then grew louder until it became full scale screaming. They stopped calling out my name. They starting talking to me. Mocking, taunting and goading. They kept calling me a fool. I tried to ignore them, but to no avail. I finally caved in and started answering them. However, I never got a reply. The voices seemed like a warped telephone that only allowed incoming calls.

The more I listened, the more I realised they were asking me to do things. Bad things. They wanted me to hurt people. And when I didn’t want to, they became angry. They started screeching. My ears hurt. My head hurt. Their voices angered me. But most of all, they scared me. I knew this wasn’t a case of bipolar disorder, nor was it a bout of schizophrenia. This was worse. This was bad.

I tried asking for help. I asked my friends. I told them I had voices in my head. Instead of being concerned, they laughed at me. They called me a crackhead. A loony. And every time a friend were to tell me that, the voices would immediately chant “They aren’t your friends. We are. You don’t need them. The world doesn’t need them. Kill them!”. It had become a twisted mantra I would hear almost every day.

I started hating my friends. They didn’t understand me. They didn’t know how I feel. I would meet them every day, and at each passing day, they faces became more sinister, constantly sneering at my every word. It made me angry. Very angry.

It was the 4th of April, my birthday. My friends(three of them) decided to drop by for a few drinks. After a few bottles, the topic of my cryptethesia popped up. They started teasing me, calling me all sorts of names. It was getting increasingly upsetting. The voices in my head were getting louder. Angrier. They were furious. “Kill them, kill them before they hurt you more! Strike while they’re still intoxicated!”

“I’m going to check the door,” I say as I stood up. They waved me off. I walked slowly towards the door, locked it, and pocketed the key. I had no control over my actions. I was being led by the voices. For the first time, I had given in to them.

The incidents that followed are still seared in my mind, an unforgettable episode that will haunt me for life. I walked towards the kitchen. I picked up a meat cleaver. Put in under my shirt. And walked towards the living room.

“Hey crackhead, been having some alone time with your voices?” One of them drunkenly said.

“Say that again.” I whispered, my breathing heavy.

“HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING TO THE VOICES?!” He shouted.

In one swift movement, I whipped out the cleaver and slashed at him, tearing off the lower part of his face. The others were stunned into a horrified silence. I raised my hand again and again, bringing down the cleaver on his bloodied face. Each slash mutilated his face even more, and within seconds all that was left was nothing but a mess of flesh, skull and brains connected to the body of what was once my friend.

I turned to the remaining two, an unnatural smile playing on my face. Their states of drunken stupor had clouded all sense of rational thinking, leaving them in a state of complete and utter disbelief. It was only when I stood up and moved towards them that they finally realised what was going on. As they stood up to run, I smashed the back of my weapon against the head of one, and he slumped into unconsciousness. I stepped over his lifeless form and went after the other, who had already headed for the door.

When he reached the door, he realised that it was locked. He banged against it, screaming at the top of his lungs. When he realised his efforts were futile, he turned around to face me.

“Look, we can talk this out-” I cut open his stomach with a lazy flick of the cleaver. He elicited an unearthly scream and fell to the ground. I placed my knees on his chest, and started chopping. Chopping, chopping and chopping. I cleaved off his limbs, and worked on his head.

As I was sawing his head off, I felt a smack against my head. I turned around to see the last one standing with a bottle in his hand. I felt blood running down my neck. The voices were deafening now, a ghastly cacophony of screams and shrieks. I started keening. I ran towards him and landed a blow to his forehead, burying the blade deep into his skull. He gurgled, and dropped to his knees. I stepped around him, and placed my cleaver on his neck.

“Hush now, it’s all over…” I whisper as I slit his throat. Everything went black the moment his head dropped to the floor.

I awoke to the sounds of sirens and shouts. I realised that I was handcuffed. I murmured in confusion, and the sounds I made brought the attention of the officers to me.

“He’s awake! Quick, secure him!” they say as one officer placed his knee on my back to prevent me from moving. I was placed on a stretcher and transported to a hospital, where I was placed under constant surveillance.

Apparently, I had made a mess of my friends. When the police found me, they found me sitting in the middle of the of the three of them in a subconscious state. I was continuously muttering the same phrase over and over again. “The voices made me do this…” I kept repeating. My friends were found with their entrails spread all over the place, and their heads chopped up. My living room looked like a place even Death wouldn’t have dared to enter.

After viewing the evidence available (which included the conversations I had with my friends), the jury concluded that I was suffering from a severe case of bipolar disorder and manic schizophrenia. I was whisked to a mental institute and was placed in a maximum security cell. And here I am now, reliving that nightmare every single day.

But I know it won’t last much longer. The voices are angry. They know I’ve babbled too much about them. They’re coming. They’re baying for my blood. I know it. I feel it. Perhaps I should have stayed silent. Maybe they wanted the secret to die with me. I have made a mistake. Oh yes I have. And they’re coming to punish me. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck they’re coming. I should have kept quiet. I shouldn’t have said anything about them.

They’re coming for me.

Save me, please.

Someone, help.