The Voices
askfasç
It's getting cooler. Next door the neighbour is playing 50's swing melodies and I can hear Bing Crosby's voice. There's a loud cricket singing on the backyard. I cried this morning, when I woke up. It had been a long time since I cried. Yesterday the voice told me: "You did good. Soon you will know the truth." He sent me another message this morning. It said: "Ground control to Major Tom. Agent Starling, can you hear me?" I crawled on the bed and held the phone tight inside my hand, but I didn't answer. I don't know what to say. I'm afraid an answer will start the entire surrealism again. I know there's something he's not telling me. The cut on my thumb is healing. There's a bandaid over it now. I like it when the neighbour plays those songs. I'm hungry. And I don't know what to do with my life. I love the sound of his laughter. I lower the sound of the TV so I can hear my neighbour's songs better. I loved to feel inside a bubble with him, filled with our laughter. I like us. It's Sunday. I always cry on Sundays. I would tell him "I don't trust you and you made me feel really sad." I have to concentrate on my book.
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