I've always had a normal life, a safe neighborhood, loving parents, a decent education, a roof to sleep under. I was a joyful child, but not for long. Who knew I would turn out like I did? A voice started developing in the back of my head telling me to do sinister things; "Stab her in the back when she turns around" or "Burn her dress so that she'll burn just like if she were in hell" or even thoughts telling me to hurt myself. The voice saved me from my rainbow of dreams by only allowing me to see in blurry fragments of black and white. The voice showed me the joy in things people would flinch at the sight of. I then developed an infatuation for dead birds, snakes, cockroaches, and all things of these sorts. They started to comfort me in a way I could not explain. I then started indulging myself in books that illustrated death and isolation. The voice showed me the pleasures lurking in the darkness.
