-Dear Diary-
I know it’s just my imagination. I’m a smart guy. I’m a fucking genius, thank you very much.
So, I know it’s just my imagination.
But I swear it’s started talking at night.
Not just learning, and writing, and doing all the things it’s meant to do.
Talking.
I wake up to sounds. Half-screams. Not quite syllables.
Maybe it’s just leftovers, from whatever god-awful dreams I must be having.
But it keeps on. Night after night after night. I feel like I’m going mad.
I think what really bothers me is how the noises feel. They’re different from an owl outside, or a car skidding down the road. Those are complete. There’s a full stop, y’know?
But these noises… It’s like somethings almost there. Not quite fully formed. There’s potential. Intent. It’s like a kid. A fucking infant, struggling with its broken vocal cords. I can tell it’s trying to say something. Trying.
Every single night.