I can hear the voice again. It’s brought a friend. How nice, I hope they have a hundred happy fat little echoes.
I have to assume they are voices, since they’re just on the edge of…hearing. It doesn’t sound like echoes of my thoughts.
What the hell does an echo of a thought sound like, genius?
They do sound like voices…like the sounds you hear extras in plays make. Just enough to sound like people.
That doesn’t make them people.
The friend brought a friend. Lovely. And another.
Great, I’m afraid again.
If they’re people, they’re angry people. Sad people. Distraught people. Confused people.
Just like you.
Maybe this is the waiting room for the afterlife?
Suddenly, the curtain of the world is going to be pulled aside and we’re going to be taken out of this sensory dep and into the fluffy white place, or the barbecue place. Gods, I hope they don’t exist.
If they do, please, please, please let me go to limbo. Absolutes annoy the fsck out of me. I can take the murky confusion and foggy miasma, just so long as I can see something.
More voices. More sadness. More confusion.
I wish one of them would talk to me.
I wish…
Stop wishing for things, Spyder, it only leads to badness…
Something’s opened the floodgates.
There’s a million voices now.
Way to elaborate…
Ok, maybe not a million, but enough to fill a stadium. I can hear snatches of words. Sometimes it’s English, sometimes it’s not, sometimes it’s English with another language layered in the background.
Can you hear me?
Answer me, can you hear me?
Assume that they can.
They sound mad. Are you mad at me?
Stop trying to communicate, just hide until you know something.
Great, now they’re silent. I don’t know what’s more frightening, the fact that they stopped, or the chance that they heard me.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It’s not like things can exactly get worse.
Are you mad at me?
…they definitely know I’m here.