The Voice Recording of Jerome Mannore

 I hear voices in my head sometimes. I can’t explain it well. It just happens. It happens whenever I’m in the shower; often when the water is hot. Steamy. That reminds me, and I think it’s important--I have this thing I do where I keep my glasses on when I’m in the shower. No matter how foggy they get. When I take them off, I see things. Horrible things. The whispers of the voices in my head come to life and I begin seeing them. It’s not very often that I see the things the voices belong to, so I can’t describe them well… Except for one person, I guess. The womanly voice. The higher pitched voice, so strong, so stern, and horrifying. She often tells me horrible things. Makes me feel horrible. She nags me. Tells me not to do this. Not to do that. I was surprised when I saw her vision. The voice belongs to a tall slender woman with bright red lips, real plump and shiny, and long blonde hair that seemed really silky. I had wanted to touch it when I did see her vision, but when I got close enough she simply screamed. Horrifying, I tell you. Afterwards it felt as though she scratched the top of my arms with her sharp claws, but I guess it was just the water getting a bit too hot. Anyways, back to the voices I guess. But I don’t want to talk about the voices I guess. But I have to, I guess, that’s why I’m here right? Okay. I guess, there’s only a few voices in my head. There’s some that come and go, some that are just one-time occurrences, and some that just stay there and fight with my own thoughts. Those ones are the worse, I’m telling you. At times, they drown out my own voice. Fighting, and screaming. They sound like they are physically beating something up inside my head. Don’t get it? Just imagine a vase being smashed into millions of pieces. It shatters first by someone kicking it. Then it’s beat by a bat several times, then even though the shards of glass are still pretty big, they just stomp on them again. Imagine seeing that, and imagine the feeling. That’s how it feels like. I hate it. But, I deal with them. 

Enough of my head. Can we get to something else? Move on from this? I am currently a cashier at my local grocery store called iShop. There’s several people that walk into the store, and I never remember any of their faces. Or recognize anyone. But, it’s crazy. This one day, this lady walked into the store. This lady that I suppose has never came into the store before, has came into the store, and I had recognized her from somewhere. That’s when I realized. She was tall and slender. She wore a tight black suit with a clean white collar. She wore black dress pants and black dress shoes, and her long blonde hair had gotten caught inside her blue overcoat. Seemed really silky. My eyes moved up to her lips, so plump and shiny. I then saw her eyes. I had never seen her eyes before, but they were a shade a blue that seemed so kind--but I knew otherwise. This lady was the same as my vision. The horrible. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible--voice in my head. 

I had began to watch her throughout the store, as I did my work. I took off my next shift, kept my uniform on, and walked with her. I told myself: The apples looked really in need of some watch. The lady just happened to be over there. The lady also happened to be walking in the same direction as I was walking, once out of the store…I had followed her into her apartment. I hid behind one of the corners until she walked in. Then, I knocked on her door-- and the voices began again. They were telling me all of these things. Telling me to knock harder. Telling me to start shouting. Telling me to just rip the door apart. Next thing I knew, I did exactly all of those things. Then, I was upon her. I hate it. I remember the feeling of her flesh onto my cold-blooded fist. I just kept hitting her. Hitting. Her. I just kept on it and on it and on it. I-- 

Her name was Penny. She had just moved into the neighborhood three weeks ago, and now she’s dead. 

Three days. That’s the amount of time I spent over her body. The police came on the morning of the fourth. Handcuffed me. 

I tried to tell them that it was the voices. That these voices make me do such crazy things. These voices make me do crazy things, I’m telling you. I hate these voices. I just hate them.

I’m--sorry. This is really scattered. I just have trouble wondering why I was sent here to talk about this? I--I need a chance to calm down for a bit, if you would let me?

If it would be so possible? Mind if I just--start over? It’ll be quicker. 

Let me start off with my name, I guess. I am Jerome Mannore. I have voices in my head. I hate them, and it seems that they hate me. Lately, the voices have been getting worse and worse, and...lately they’ve been mixing in with mine. I don’t even know anymore what’s mine or what’s not! I don’t--I just--don’t know. I think I’m going crazy. All of them say I’m crazy. So I guess, that’s just what I am.