BLIND | DreamSMP

XIV - The Voices Speak

A cold draft squeezed its way inside through the creaky door perpendicular to the chests, raising goosebumps on his exposed neck and wrists.

He hadn't meant to upset Tommy; it was an accident. It wasn't his fault he couldn't read people like Phil could.

But deeper in his heart, Techno knew he should have been watching closer, been looking out for those signs of stirring anger, and backed away once he spotted them.

It's what a good brother would have done.

The voices rose in elusive harmony, whispering to him like twittering birds as they flocked to his mind.

You hurt him.

Your fault.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

He deserves a better brother than you.

Selfish brute.

Freak.

Monster.

The cruel sparrows chattered and sung their vicious words, each one a blow he couldn't fend off. He had been trained in physical combat since he was a child; but no one had ever told him how to fight his own traitorous mind.

Shame on you.

Useless.

Scum.

Unworthy.

Techno sunk to the floor, leaning against a chest, hiding his head in his hands. The voices peppered him still with insults, unrelenting in their brutality even as their victim crumbled. He pressed his palms hard against his skull, trying to force them out, desperate for quiet, not caring when he felt his rings dig into his scalp and bruise the skin underneath.

He didn't hear Phil enter the room, or quietly pad over to Techno's huddled form. He didn't notice him sink to the floor next to him either. It was only when a comforting, familiar arm snaked around his shoulders, that Techno finally loosened his grip on his head and looked at Phil, the weathered features of the man he called his father calming his pounding heart and slowing his rapid breathing in a way nothing else could.

"I'm so sorry," Techno rasped.

"I know you don't mean to do it, mate," Phil soothed. "It's ok. We'll find a way to fix it, like we always do."

Tears sprung to Techno's eyes, overjoyed at being forgiven, while knowing he deserved none of it; he forced them back, unwilling to cry. Not here. Not now.

Maybe when he was alone, the darkness of a sleepless night creeping towards him on spindly legs, he would allow himself to acknowledge the hollow part of his heart that made him act like such a monster, and glistening tears would find a home on his cheeks, evaporating by the time the sun rose like the crystal dew that sat upon the greenery in his garden, the plants yet untouched by the starved fingers of winter that seemed to caress every unsheltered thing in the tundra.

Techno had assumed warm hides and a small fireplace would keep the frost away: but perhaps winter had already crept inside of him unnoticed and made itself a home long ago.

He had been twelve, the first time it happened. Techno hadn't understood what the voices that chattered to him in such an amicable way were, or where they had come from, but he was happy for the company, and willing to listen.

That was his first mistake.

It was a warm summer day. Techno lay sprawled on his back, staring at the clouds draped like swirls of cotton candy across a brilliant blue sky. The sun shone down, warm on his skin, and a subtle breeze blew through his loose hair, disturbing the bubble-gum pink strands.