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Voice
Worlds colliding, ever changing ever moving the colours swirl behind the lids but that is bad and cannot watch as they move, must keep them open though the weights press down and wish for release from the tension they are being caused but it is not allow IT IS NOT ALLOWED.
...
The brightness of the lights aids in the quest but the hindrance caused is also frustrating the brightness ecks at the retina and causes true pain but still no release they will wait they will wait wait until the coming of the dawn and then the light will be softer but still bright enough to serve it's purpose. Harshness. This is harsh. Have come to expect... will be stronger. Expect the strength from others, will provide the same.
(Soft, unhappy giggling) And the solution so evident, so apparent that it feels almost cruel to cause the body to want what it so violently rejects. They say it is simple, but they do not understand THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND
...
Attempted maths. Numbers are much simpler. Began with those previously attempted and already proven before moving into those that had not been, seeking solutions to problems with clear and in obvious ones. A metaphor, perhaps an escape, in either case neither was assist-able. Numbers bled together on the page, oozing their way to their own doom everything pooling together in a giant massacre until they were all dead. All dead. Poor, little dead numbers, none of them standing a chance against the onslaught they were provided.
The funeral was well catered, though seven didn't think so. Eight nine.
(There's wild, manic laughter and then more awkward pause. Voice comes back in at a desperate whimper)
Need to sleep. Need to sleep so much. Can't sleep. Don't make me sleep. Please. Make it stop.
...
The brightness of the lights aids in the quest but the hindrance caused is also frustrating the brightness ecks at the retina and causes true pain but still no release they will wait they will wait wait until the coming of the dawn and then the light will be softer but still bright enough to serve it's purpose. Harshness. This is harsh. Have come to expect... will be stronger. Expect the strength from others, will provide the same.
(Soft, unhappy giggling) And the solution so evident, so apparent that it feels almost cruel to cause the body to want what it so violently rejects. They say it is simple, but they do not understand THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND
...
Attempted maths. Numbers are much simpler. Began with those previously attempted and already proven before moving into those that had not been, seeking solutions to problems with clear and in obvious ones. A metaphor, perhaps an escape, in either case neither was assist-able. Numbers bled together on the page, oozing their way to their own doom everything pooling together in a giant massacre until they were all dead. All dead. Poor, little dead numbers, none of them standing a chance against the onslaught they were provided.
The funeral was well catered, though seven didn't think so. Eight nine.
(There's wild, manic laughter and then more awkward pause. Voice comes back in at a desperate whimper)
Need to sleep. Need to sleep so much. Can't sleep. Don't make me sleep. Please. Make it stop.
