One Direction Sad Preferences

The Voice

"There was a voice in my head that wanted me to do bad things. But of all these things I had done, of all the things the voice made me to do…there was none worse than the very last."

It started with small things.

The sudden urge to shave off half of an eyebrow, replace shampoo with hair dye, cut a hole in a favorite shirt, pour salt in a drink.

It was sort of like a “prank war” except the pranks weren’t very funny. They were mean sometimes and I don’t know why I did them. It was the little voice in the back of my mind telling me to do these things.

If I didn’t listen to the voice my muscles would twitch, my fingers would spasm. It would command me over and over until the deed was done.

I never told anyone because they’d think I was insane…maybe I was insane. Maybe I was losing my mind. Maybe I already lost it.

But like I said before, it started with small things. But then the small things became medium things.

Deleting contacts from their phones, sending fake messages, stealing things  that mean a lot to them, spreading rumors that would hurt them.

Those medium things I did in secret, though. They thought someone on our management team was doing it so we fired a lot of them.  I went along with it, pointing an accusatory finger at  those who’d been like family to us and worked beside us for years.

The weird thing is, though, I didn’t feel guilty. The voice that controlled me took away my guilt. It took away a lot of things. Control. Guilt. Conscience.

The voice took things from me and it wanted me to take things for it.

It began asking me to do bigger things. Breaking up relationships, ruining careers, ruining lives.

The voice didn’t “ask” me to do them, let me correct that. It made me. It made me do a lot of things.

But of all these things I had done, of all the things the voice made me to do…there was none worse than the very last.

“Boy, you must kill for me. One of the band. I want four in One Direction. Only four.  Kill one of the five. Kill. Kill. Kill.”

The “assignment” had been given to me one week ago and the words have been background noise in my mind ever since. My fingers trembled whenever I was near a knife, a bottle of pills, anything like a weapon.

I could not do it. I could not not do it. How would I choose? How would I get away with it?

I would sit on the sofa with one of them playing FIFA on PS3 and images would flash through my mind, the wire of my controller wrapped around his neck. Crushed up pills hidden in one of their meals.

The voice gave me ways to kill and put them in my mind. My body ached from my prolonging the task I would ultimately need to complete.