Dark side

1

I stare at my white washed cinder block walls in dazed contentment.

I like it here.

I belong here.

This is my home.

This is not a cell, this is my room.

The food man will come soon, bringing me over-cooked meat and sticky, cold rice. But he closes and locks the door when he comes so that I won't leave this place behind in my dust.

Like I would ever do that.

He says that I can't leave so I won't hurt anyone, which I don't mean to do. I just wanted to be free of this rumbling chaos that churns inside me, and the only way to do that is by satisfying the hungry relentless voice in my head always asking for more, more, more.

That I must kill. And when I bury my knife in the victims flesh, I sigh with glee as the voice fades away to a distant murmur. And then a second later my thoughts reassemble and I think about what I had done, how I had took a human life...

The voice churns inside me, awoken by the memory of me turning myself in to the police investigators, and then the police sending me to this infernal hell.

And now the voice is at his highest mento, assisting with my pounding migraine.

It's so loud that I can't think straight or find the reasoning behind the crazy things I do almost instinctively, without control.

If the voice has gone to sleep, then I can almost remember the smell of homemade cookies, the heat of hot food in my mouth, and the flash of a kind nurturing face soothing my sorrows...

But the voice blocks it all out. Until I don't know who I am.