° I screamed but you never heard me.
This time, you will scream and i will not hear you.°
***
A shrill cry reverberated in the empty corridors of the hospital. It was one o'clock in the morning and a baby boy with pretty blue eyes was born.
He looked like an angel, but he didn't have wings, he had voices in his head instead.
At the age of 5, the toddler grasped his first sharp object ; a fork. He clutched it in his tiny hands and hugged it to his chest. He was wondering what to do with it when suddenly, a few voices ,mixed together, floated in his head. Afraid and still naive, the little boy started to cry. "Crybaby," the voices hissed.
The little boy was growing up. He was now nine years old. The voices grew up too and strengthened immensely. They whispered to him every night, they were the boy's only friends. The mother was worried about her son and drove him to the doctor's place.
The room was brightly lit with many colours splashed on the wall, giving the waiting room a childish appeal, but he was interested in the drawing of different surgical tools."So sharp, so beautiful" ,the voices swirled in his mind. The doctor diagnosed him with insomnia. He had to take two white pills everyday and that was how the nightmares started.
At the age of 10, the child with electric blue eyes caught a bird in a net. Alone at home, he dissected the blue bird. Blood oozed out and he squealed in delight. He just found his new favourite colour!
His father found a bird cut in many pieces and a few drawings out of blood. He went to the bar to drink his worries away.
The strikingly beautiful boy was handed a bat when he was fifteen. After he bashed his enemy's head for the umpteenth time, the voices laughed in his head. A slow hysterical laugh built up in his throat and bubbled out of his mouth. He was finally one with his voices.
Over the years, the voices got more and more demanding. It was like an imaginary itch in his body. His thirst for blood was inhumane but he couldn't stop. He wanted to bath in a pool of blood. Drawings of different flowers ,made of blood, were hung in a small dark room. The mother had died in an accident and the father committed suicide soon after. No one could slow down the voices now. They were here to stay and to destroy.
A beautiful canvas of red was painted in the small room. It ranged from the blood of a little girl to that of an elder man. The different reds were weaved together to form flowers and beautiful portraits.
The little boy with insanity filling his eyes was now an artist, painting his life in red.
°°°
Thanks for reading :)
