InsaneJournal

284 // voice
[ The feed starts long before anyone speaks, lingers in eerie silence broken by the clicks of a stubborn lighter, the dry crackle of tobacco being set alight, the hollow intake of smoke in dead lungs. The trembling exhale, functioning as an initial indicator to just how rough and ragged his voice is when he does speak. Strained, like he's been screaming himself raw or perhaps the measured and stilted words are a product of him trying to keep himself from doing just that. ]

Are you happy now? Is the world all bright, full of puppydogs and rainbows again? Messing with things you don't understand... makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Like you're in control. Like you know something. Let me tell you a lit'le secret: you don't know shit. You've never been in control and you never will be. Always somethin' else, calling the shots... whether you realize it or not.

The real monsters aren't out there... but in here. [ Punctuated by the hollow knock of knuckles against breastbone and then he cuts the feed. ]