It's been six years and every day you feel like you're falling further and further, like Alice down the rabbit hole, but in this version, she can't wait till she goes splat when she lands. You almost feel like laughing at that, as you place another folded article of clothing into the box. The TV's on, though you're not paying much attention to it, it provides a lovely background, instead of hearing the noises in your head. It's on the news channel though, so every once in a while, you'll check up on the screen, seeing if anything particularly exciting has happened. And so far, the usual.
Your back to folding clothes again, every once in a while looking anxiously around at the room, or up at the TV. Your apartment room is almost blank, except for a few boxes stacked up on each other, some clothes, and a bottle of red nail polish on your desk.
A few hours drone by, and you're sat at your desk, looking blankly at your hands. You'd be moving out tomorrow. Or, you would, you'd probably leave your stuff behind. The silence in your room is thick, and you feel almost suffocated in it. Tapping your fingers against your desk, you try to calm yourself. The noise in your head is too loud, and you can't hear the TV anymore. You're going to die, you think to yourself, right here and right now.
You rush to grab your phone, hesitant to answer for a second. "Hello?"
"(Y/n), babe, it's me." Oh, right, your friend.
"Sorry, sorry, didn't read who was calling."
"You still on for tomorrow?"
"Of course," you have to stop, trying to remind yourself of what was happening then, what you agreed to, then it clicks. "Yeah, 7, right?"
"You know it, babe."
"Okay, see you then." You'd have to post-pone skipping town. Things never went how you hoped they'd go.
Placing your phone back on the desk, you glance towards the TV again, the sound entering your head once more. The current news item seemed to pique your interest. The video was of a burned house in a neighborhood you once knew a long time ago. You'd almost forgotten about it, maybe for good reasons.
You shake your head, finding that your mind had begun another tangent. Looking back to the TV, the story seemed to have a death count to it, at least two dead. You go to grab the remote, and then stood in an uncomfortable silence. Your lights were off, the TV was off, and even with the blowing winds outside, and the rattling windows, the only thing you could hear was the voice in your head again.
It begins as a soft whisper this time, gradually getting louder and louder, it sounds like a million mumbling voices though, you can't make out what any of it is saying. Their screeching in your ears, and you fall, silence devouring you again.
'Kill me.' The only voice you could ever quite hear. Its voice growls like a dog or a wild beast, ready to attack at the snap of a finger. You'd be out of town though, so you can't comply to the voice, no, you WON'T comply. You begin to move all the boxes in your room towards the front door.
You would be leaving town tomorrow to escape the voice and the inevitable hurt and pain you feared you might cause. You didn't plan on taking any of your belongings, but you hoped when they found your body, they'd give everything away.
You sit down on the floor, leaning against your bed. The murmuring voices taunt you with ideas again, and just like always, you're just about ready to claw your face. Anything to get the noise to stop. Your gaze quickly finds the only thing still laying on your desk, the bottle of red polish. Part of you wants to throw it at a wall, or drink it, but you need to at least get through today, you could be reckless tomorrow.
You gnaw feverishly on your fingertips, keeping a close and calm eye on the polish. Reminding yourself, again and again, not to give in to the voices.