short story

i used to hear them, when i was 10, back then when i used to think "hmm that's loud" that must have been the first that i can recall hearing them, "them" like they are someone i know, like they are more than one, i can tell them apart as well as fibers from a single pulled yarn, if someone asked me which one out of them all is the most vibrant i could pull out the most noticeable fiber pluck it out and say "that one" but then the sun would set, the question would alter and the fiber dull in the pinch of their fingers as it translated from my grip to theirs, and they'd paint it in their ugly colors of morbid certainty. 

"So they are all just one, the voices?"

At this point, her pupils dilated, a blank stare took over her cold face, she looked at him, and then away into the darkness looking for her, Sheila emerged towards her, she had her bag in her hand, without another word Sheila reached out to her shoulder with her arm around over her they walked out. They drove off in a little blue car, made it about half a kilometer away from the studio before Sheila turned left and parked next to a pub.

"When it is anyone other than you, it drives me insane" she tells sheila flicking the ash off her cigarette, holding ever so lightly with the tips of her narrow long fingers, restlessly waving around to somehow attempt to cover her visibly shaky hands.

"Talking or explaining" she says in a mocking voice sipping her beer

"Oh no.. no don't do that! I heard your conversation with him, he knew he was not supposed to call it "voices". It just turns into this horror movie every time, i try Shay, i really do"

"They already think you're insane, yet there is always more for why you wont talk to them, its always fascinating to see you get to that point"

"My pain is what you thrive on."

"I am merely an audience to your imbalanced gatherings" she smiles.

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