My Only Answer

You’re a wimp.
No good.
You shouldn’t have been born.
This voice is driving me crazy. I can’t understand it, yet it is so clear. It makes me want to….no. No. I’m not going to give in.
You shouldn’t have been born.
The mirror in front of me spider-webs, and I jump. Then I realize that I have done it. My hands are closed in fists on the mirror. Pieces of glass fall into the sink. I look beyond the cracks, and at the reflection in the mirror, at myself.
Dark circles rest under my eyes. I haven’t slept in days, because of the dreams. Maybe I should stop reading before bed, I tell myself. Murder mysteries are making me anxious. Yes, that’s it.
But I know it’s not. No matter how much I tell myself. These dreams aren’t like the books at all. And I’ve been reading mysteries since I was a kid, I didn’t get these dreams until a year ago.
These dreams are...so much worse than any Stephen King novel. It's more one dream than many, of this girl, I can't see her, but she keeps whispering my ears. Stupid. Can't do anything right. Die. Die. Die! DIE! And every time I whip around, she's still behind me. I have never seen her face, and it terrifies me. I am blind to everything.
I go out in the hallway in search of my friends. Josh could help. He’s like Dr. Phil, but with hair. I grimace at the idea of him becoming my shrink. He would be great, but right now, I didn’t need to think of him like that.
He instantly picks up on my bad feelings. “Hon, what’s wrong?” He hugs me tightly and when I push off, he's holding me at arms’ length.
“I’m just having a bad day…” I lie. I can’t tell him about my dreams. The voice. That’s a secret. No one can know about her.
“Tell me about it,” he says as he links his hand with mine and we begin to walk the halls. He listens with all he has, I realize. He isn’t thinking about his girlfriend when I talk to him, he’s thinking about me. What a great friend.
He’s just a great liar.
I choke midway through a sentence. Josh’s eyes darken and his brows knit together. “What? Shanon?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just choked on my tongue…” I know that he’ll pretend to believe me and then worry later on.
He doesn’t care.
I can’t talk for a while. My heart races. The voice really doesn’t want me to feel good. “Josh?” I ask hesitantly.
“Tell me what’s got you in a jitter, Sha. I can tell that you’re not alright, like you’re saying. Was it your dad again?”
“No…It’s really nothing, Josh. I’m just a bit sore. Don’t ask, please?” I beg him. He nods and we part ways at the sound of the bell.1

You could borrow his razor. He would let you, because he feels sorry for you. He wouldn’t feel guilty about letting you die.
The wicked voice, I am beginning to realize, is evil, and might, just maybe…want me to die? It keeps telling me these things. I get mad. “You aren’t me. I’m happy. I’m fine. You are an imagination do to stress and lack of sleep,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?” someone near me asks.
“Nothing,” I reply. I continue drawing in my notebook. The drawing is of a rose, a single thorn is on its stem…blood drips from it….I drop my pencil when I realize what I’ve drawn. Jason—the boy who has spoken before—leans down and picks it up. He looks at my “art”.
“Nice. If you worked in a little bit of shade, it would probably be good enough for that museum downtown…If it were on drawing paper, that is.”
“Thanks,” I reply, shocked.
He’s just sorry for you. He wants to look like a good guy.
I roll my eyes when the voice comes. Jason notices the action. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, uh, no. Just thinking, I s’pose. Maybe it’s not so healthy….” I grin and get a small smile out of him.
“Hey, um, I know that we aren’t really that close or anything, but would it be okay if I sit with you at lunch today?” He asks with such an unsure voice, like he's afraid I'D turn HIM down.
He doesn’t really want to.
“Sure.” I shrug nonchalantly, but my heart is racing.
“And your art really is amazing. I wish I could do something like that...” His blue eyes are soft and reassuring me that he's a nice guy.
He'll betray you.
“I wish I could too…”
He frowns, “What?”
“I don’t even have art. I was just…doodling.” I look down at the rose.
For the first time, it seems, he notices the symbols around the rose. Just a penned version of graffiti. “It adds to the feel of it, I think.” I realize that he has things written up and down his arms. I instantly reach over and look at it closer. “Hmm…planning to be a tattoo artist?”
“Not really, but tattoos would be great.” He smiled. 2

When he sat down next to me, I was surprised. I mean sure, he said that he wanted to, but no one sits by me. Ever. Come to think of it, nobody talks to me either. Not even my parents. I sigh contentedly as he sets his backpack in an empty chair. “So,” he says, “What’s up?”
“What is wrong with you?” I blurt out. I bite my lip and feel my cheeks burn.
“Whaddaya mean?” His look—puzzled—is so funny that I can’t help but smile.
“No one sits by me, nobody talks to me, I’ve not had a friend in years. What is wrong with you? Aren’t you warded off? I know you’ve got friends.”
“They’re…annoying. They talk, and talk, and talk…And they try to act so normal. You don’t. You’re different, and I can tell that you aren’t angry or ashamed of it. I like that. Screw them.”
I laugh. “You are insane.”
“How?”
“No one likes me. Don’t you get that? It’s not my imagination; it’s really what they think. They don’t want to be with me, and you do. That’s not…sane.”
He shrugs. “Well, the insane are the most fun.”
“But what if I’m going insane?” I think.3

I look in the bathroom mirror at home. It’s the same face. The same liquid eyes. The same shoulder length brown hair that has a mind of its own. The same mouth that lacks use. But I am not the same.
Go to the basement. Grab your dad’s gun. Blow your brains out.
“No!” My lower lip quivers. I’m on the breaking point. I want only to defy the voice, but it’s pressuring. It is adamant that I die. That I commit suicide. I don’t want to.
Go to the basement. Grab your dad’s gun. Blow your brains out.
I go into my room and get out my journal. My pen hits paper.4

I’m so unsure of myself. It’s unbelievable. I’m capable of driving this person into the ground. But no one can know. No one can know. I want to die. NO. No, the voice…it wants me to die. It wants me to kill myself. It tells me horrible things. But they’re so true…No. No.No.No. NO. NO!5

I put my journal down and wipe away tears of confusion.
Twenty steps to the basement. You can die without ruining Mum’s perfect rug.
Tears stream down my face as I give up. I go downstairs. The doorbell rings. I know instantly who it is and open the door slowly. Jason sees my tears. He grabs my arms and holds me. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“You need…to leave,” I blubber. He looks at me with confusion.
“Do you need a doctor? Are you hurt? What is wrong?”
“Go. L-leave. Far away. Don’t...stay. I’m fine. Go. Good-bye.”
“What the hell is wrong?” He looks at my eyes.
I turn away, wrenching my arms from his grasp. “Leave Jason. I’m fine. I just…Crying happens. It’s nothing. It wouldn’t be any of your business if it was something. Just go. Leave what’s left of my dignity.”
“Shanon.”
“No.”
“Shanon, I want to help.”
“You can’t when it’s nothing. Okay? I’m just…sick. Okay? I needed a good cry. Leave.” He is silent for a moment, and in this time, I whip around and shove him out. “Just go,” I tell him, with a small grin to encourage him that I am fine.
Next thing I know, I’m in the basement, the gun pointed at my temple.
See, he didn’t care, or he would have stayed.
“I didn’t give him the chance.”
He could have broken in.
“He’s too nice.”
If you believed it, you wouldn’t be holding the gun. Haha, I win. You can’t win against me.
“And who are you?”
Pull the trigger and you will find out.
I think of Jason. "He wouldn’t care, would he?" I set the gun down and locate a piece of paper.
Mom, Dad—
I love you so much, and I’m sorry what I’ve had to do. Don’t cry. Please Mom. Be strong. I’m gone. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I love you. She keeps telling me to die. Even as I write. I am about to break. I can’t live any longer. There’s no hope.
Jason—
Only known you for a day, and you were so nice, but she’s taken over my life. She wants me dead. She says you don’t care if I live or die, and I can’t help but believe her. Death is my only answer. If it turns out that you do care…I’m sorry.
Love to all.
Goodbye.
Don’t miss me.
Shanon6

I grab the gun and pull the trigger before I can think twice. For the first time, her face is pictured in my head. She smiles, evil eyes glinting as I quickly die.
I am you. And now we’re both dead. You can’t win. You didn’t. I won. You lost.