A prick. A sting. And the voice flows from the syringe—a whisper, really. Soft. Encouraging. Helpful. Nestling between my ears, warm and comfy. But one became two, and two, ten…
Do this. No, that. Stop. Go, wait!
The chorus grows and grows until there’s no room left for my own thoughts.
Run. Hide. Fight. Kill!
The voices rage. They demand. They cajole. They threaten. What do they want? Why? How do I give it to them? What can I do?
Now. NOW. NOW!
I scream. I SCREAM! And at last, they’re quiet… Another prick. Another sting. Another voice. Another.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>