Burden.

Part 9:

John was like a fire, a tsunami. Tsunami, he liked that word, it had a certain weight to it, made him feel large, powerful, godly. Yes, John really liked that last word too—godly—he was both, he was godly, and a tsunami, he was a godly tsunami. What was a tsunami? John's thoughts stopped in their tracks, he didn't even know what a tsunami was. John tried to remember, he knew the word but not what it meant, but then how did he know how to use it, it was so strange, like he was fractured. Fractured. Another weird word, but he knew what it meant— broken. Broken, he was broken, he was no longer working right.

John pounded his head, grunting through gritted teeth. It was so... angering! He couldn't stand it, it was like he had all the pieces of him but he just couldn't make them come together, like a puzzle. Puzzle? What's a puzzle? Great! another word he knew but didn't understand. If John was being honest he'd admit that he wished he could hear the voice, at least then he wouldn't be arguing with himself. John felt a sort of lightness in his chest, he couldn't describe it but it made him huff and give a slight smile as he thought about how all of this had started over the stupid word 'tsunami'.

John sat down, he was in another house, his children were wandering about aimlessly, their buzzing careless and lazy. John looked at his lap; jeans, he was wearing jeans, but they were torn and bloody, many shades darker than the light blue they had once been. John shifted a bit in his seat, frowning as he realized he didn't really have anyone to talk to. He had his children, of course, but they couldn't really talk to him, they couldn't have a... what was the word... wow, John felt the lightness in his chest again and huffed with a smile, he could think of so many words that he didn't understand but when he wanted a word that fit what he understood he suddenly couldn't find it. John shook his head, if he didn't know any better, he'd say he was going crazy.

                     Who says you haven't already?

John felt his heart leap in his chest—the voice! John gave an even wider smile as he was filled with a strange, bouncing energy.

                    Are you actually excited to hear me for once?

John pulled himself back, realizing how he felt, he shouldn't feel that way, not for the voice, he hated the voice, with it came the feelings.

                     If you ask me, it seemed like you enjoyed the feelings, you were even laughing earlier.

Laughing? What's laughing?

                    That feeling you had in your chest that made you grin, and that sound you made, that was all part of laughter, and to me it seemed like you enjoyed it.

That- that was laughter?

                     Yes, another one of the amazing things you get to experience when you actually allow yourself to feel.

John had to admit that he did like being able to feel and being able to think clearly... but the other feelings, the other memories, the ones of his daughter, of what he did to her.

                    It's okay to feel bad, John, everyone has their own share of guilt.

No. No, no, no, no, no. John pulled himself even farther back inward, he couldn't handle it, he couldn't stand being able to remember and realize that it was him that killed his daughter.

                      John, please, don't run away again, it'll all be okay.

What did the voice know? It didn't know how John felt, it didn't know what it was like to lose their child, let alone kill them, it probably never even had a child.

                     Yes... I did.

Yeah, right. John shook his head, it was just a voice, it didn't know the feelings he felt, the things he experienced, it never had anything or anyone.

                         I do know the things you've experienced, John, and I have had people and things. I had a family once, they were beautiful and sweet and I loved them with all my heart.

John snarled. No! the voice knew nothing, it was just a voice, it was nothing, all he had to do was eat and it'd go away.

                          No, John, it's not that simple, I'm more than just a voice.

Really? Then what was the voice? John mocked it, mocked its very existence, it really was nothing, not even a real voice.

                        I am a real voice, and I'm more than just a voice!

Then what else is the voice? John waited for an answer, but he knew he wouldn't get one, all the voice was was an annoyance, a fly that he could swat away for a bit but would always have buzzing back a few minutes later. John grunted, standing up, it was time to go eat and get some peace for a bit, he was tired of the voice.

                        Don't you dare ignore me.

John smiled, he didn't care about the voice or what it said anymore, John understood now, the voice was the true disease, it had been the disease all along.

                       No, John, I'm not the disease and I'm not just any voice.

Then what exactly was the voice then?

                      Goddammit, I'm you! I'm you, John! Don't you recognize the sound of your own damn voice!?

John stopped and stood still. No, it couldn't be, but then again, in his dream he had sounded just like- John's mind suddenly filled with a thousand thoughts at once, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell unconscious. His brain was a supernova explosion of memories both his and not of his own, thoughts both his and not of his own, feelings... both his... and not of his own.