One by one til what's done is done.

Some mornings, I walk to class listening to music. As I enter the buildings my classes are in, I would usually lower my earbuds for a variety of reasons. It's respectful, I guess - not that I can imagine anyone would think it is disrespectful, but that's just how life works - and it is a sort of anti-shock; a preparation for the real world lying ahead. I approach the doors to my classes, with my earbuds now out, and sometimes - not everyday, for I'd imagine I'd be wearing much more restrictive clothing if it happened more often - but sometimes I would hear a voice.

The voice would rise up from within my own head and speak non-truths to me. Horrible lies about the possibility of pain soon ahead. Regrets and mistakes lie in front of you, it would screech - no, not a screech. More like a howl, a sharp howl, like a wolf mysteriously shouting its praises to the moon at night. I would hear the voice's jeers pounding like an ever-intensive, never-ending headache, and I would feel the burn of it's non-eye's stares, more deep and more threatening than the most angriest of mother's, before I would even sit down in the classroom. I would often quickly replace my earbuds and walk back out the building.

Once outside, the voice in my head would cease - but a new voice would rise stronger and more daring than the last. It spawns from my heart and it is ashamed of me. It's ashamed of my thoughts. My choices and decisions, good or bad. The sense of this shame is like a cage closing on my ribs. When this happens, I turn up my music and walk home as quickly as possible trying not to hate myself. My home acts as some sort of sanctuary; when I am here I have no forces - no voices - acting on my life.

By Calvin