The Unforgivable

I've started to hear voices. I don't really want to tell anyone, but I don't think anybody is reading this blog anyways, and I have to get it out. I'm hearing a voice in my head and she sounds exactly like me.

I am death, and I come for all. First I will kill your spirit. I am already in the process. Let us see how long it takes for your body to go with it.

They call me many things. The Reaper, Belial, the Dying Woman. Personally, though, I'm fond of "the Unforgivable."

I will explain the time I appeared in your dream. I am a being of the mind. I live in your thoughts. I feed on your soul. Whatever I want is mine, if only in your dreams. And now it can be yours as well. Aren't I generous?

What the fuck, right?

I haven't heard from her since then. Let's hope it stays that way.

Cold Machines

Fiona's said she doesn't mind if I tell anyone else what's going on. Of course, given I don't talk to many people in real life, that mostly translates to writing on this blog.

Let me back up a bit. I haven't mentioned this before, but Fiona's been sick lately. I'm getting worried. We were just sitting and reading together, and she started coughing really hard. It turned out she'd been having these kinds of issues for a while, but she didn't want to worry me.

To put it briefly, Fiona's been having fevers, coughing fits, and difficulty breathing. Dr. Ramazzini says Fiona probably has esophageal ulcers, and is treating her as such now that he's ruled out everything else.

Anyways, I visited Fiona in the hospital today. I'd visit her more often, but I have to ask for time off from work every time, since I work during her visiting hours.

But one way or another, she's still sick, and I can't do anything to help her. I feel so powerless. All I can do is go to work and pretend nothing's wrong.