Entry 1
It’s hard for me to sleep sometimes. Well, I imagine it’s hard for everybody to sleep sometimes, but I think it’s harder for me than most people. My family, my friends, my co-workers, a couple of doctors all tell me that I’m suffering from insomnia. This does not make me feel any better. I know it has a name, a couple probable causes (I’m banking on stress-fueled depression), and some solutions of varying degrees of severity. All of this bountiful knowledge, however, doesn’t make the actual suffering any better. You could sit through a fantastically well presented seminar on the history of influenza, but that doesn’t make you feel any better when you’re at home with the flu. What does make you feel better? Tea, orange juice, NyQuil; things that make you think you should be feeling better.
This journal is supposed to be my NyQuil. I’ve mentioned that I’ve already thrown some money at doctors in some small hope they might be able to solve this problem of mine. They tried selling me on some pills, but none of them are covered by my current insurance plan and cost as much as my rent every month. Thank you, privatized healthcare. One alternative that was presented to me was to start keeping a journal and write in it whenever I have a hard time sleeping. Kind of a way to put my thoughts to bed so that the rest of me can follow. Makes a good amount of sense if you think about it. Problem is, I don’t know if I buy it; and the funny thing about medicine is that no matter how legit the science is, if you don’t believe it’ll work there’s a good chance that it won’t. But I don’t really have any other choices, so here I am. I’m going to try some chamomile tea and brandy to get me to sleep. Wish me luck.
Entry 2
Is there any irony that I work at a coffee shop and have sleep issues? There must be something in there somewhere. I don’t know why I’m asking you this, you’re a book. Unless this turns into some Anne Frank deal, in which case you’re a person reading about my innermost thoughts. I’ve never actually kept a journal, am I supposed to have some exposition about myself? Am I supposed to hope somebody else reads this down the line? Why am I so full of questions tonight? The answers don’t mean a god damned thing because in the end, you’re either a notebook I got from target for $1.99 or a voyeur. So fuck y’all, I’m going to try warm milk tonight.
Entry 3
Why the hell is it so damn hot at night lately?! Heat may not be the root cause of my issues, but it’s a factor. I’m getting an air conditioner tomorrow. Going to crank the temp down so that I’m not drenched in sweat at all hours of the night. Tonight I’m going to try a sleep track on my phone.
Entry 4
It’s been a while since I’ve actually had to write anything. This was good news! But I’m writing now, so this is apparently bad news, my college-ruled confidant. The air conditioner helped my problems immensely. The cold air was refreshing; I liked that my feet were a little chilly, but that’s not what actually “fixed” me. The first night, I got into bed at 10:00 like I do every night, but instead of lying uncomfortably for hours before getting up to try writing and another home remedy, I fell asleep immediately and restfully.
I didn’t care why I was sleeping so soundly at first, I just enjoyed it for the first few nights. Eventually though, I did idly wonder what this huge breakthrough could be attributed to. It couldn’t be the temperature or I would have no issues sleeping in the winter. One day, it hit me while I was taking my break in the alleyway behind the cafe next to some machinery. It was the white noise! Just having the thing hum along at night relaxed me in a way I hadn’t been able to in years.
I remember when I was a kid, we lived in a smallish house that didn’t have a very good heating or cooling system. To compensate and keep everything cool during the hot summer months, my dad installed a GIGANTIC fan in the hallway that would pull air from the house and out through the roof. That fan also made noise proportional to its size so that over time, I must’ve subconsciously associated the fan noise with sleepy times. My little air conditioner scratched that long forgotten itch for me and put me out.
I’ve been good for what…about a month now? Lately there’s just been something…off. Just my mind playing tricks on me, but it’s gotten me back here to write. I actually feel kind of tired just after getting this all down, I should be fine without any remedies tonight.
Entry 5
I am back again. I’m going to get right down to it. I haven’t been able to sleep and it is because…I think I’m hearing voices. I sound absolutely insane just writing that down like some kind of confession. I know it sounds deranged, but I’m not sure how else to put it. It’s not like some deep, Barry White voice that tells me to kill my parents and burn down orphanages or anything. I’m not being told to kill myself or any other stereotypical thing you’re supposed to hear fake voices in your head tell you to do. The voice are… somehow coming out of the white noise from my air conditioner. Nothing is talking to me, but I can hear…well, something. It sounds like somebody took an audio sample of a loaded cafeteria and then turned the volume all the way off and then up just a click. It’s a periphery cacophony, if that makes any sense. It’s white noise, but at the same time, it’s not. You can just BARELY discern that there are patterns in the noise, language, but you can’t make any of it out.
This has been going on for the past four days now. At first I thought it was just something I left on, some banner ad on my computer that deiced to start up. When I sat up in bed though, the sound was gone. I laid back down to sleep and just as I was getting comfy, I started hearing the noise again, I was sure of it. I got all the way out of bed this time, double checked that everything in the apartment was off before trying to sleep again. The noises keep coming back. Sometimes it sounds like a random gathering of people, dozens of them. Other times it sounds like only two or three are having a private conversation. Yesterday I thought I heard a song. A song that was familiar to me, something that I wanted to listen to, something that I liked, but I just couldn’t hear it well enough. I wanted to hear it. I wanted to know what it was so that I could get it out of my head. I wanted to know what it was so very badly, but there wasn’t a song or music or anything. There was only me looking sleepily at the air conditioner. Trying Dramamine and a turkey sandwich tonight.
Entry 6
It’s not too hot anymore. I removed the air conditioner and drove it down to my parent’s house yesterday after work. They live nearby and have enough junk in the garage that they won’t mind losing an extra two cubic feet. The device that served as my security blanket was driving me more crazy than I already was. Even though it’s gone though, sometimes I still think I can hear that siren song and I just want to listen to those familiar melodies that only exist in my head a little more intently. Maybe I AM over the edge.
I’m going to try watching the weather channel to fall asleep tonight.
Entry 7
I’m hearing it everywhere now. The whispers, the conversations, but most of all, the music. It’s in all white noise. I hear it when I make some asshole’s latte when I steam the milk. I hear it from the hum of my computer. I hear it in car engines. I hear it on the wind when there’s nothing else around me.
It’s the music that gets to me the most still. It sounds like ba-lala-ba-dum-lala or at least I think it does. This is not a good medium to rely the way something sounds. I know it makes a sound, but how do I show you? I don’t know what it sounds like, just that it sounds. I don’t think anybody knows what it actually means, nobody can write these notes down. It doesn’t start with a D flat, I can tell you that! but I’m not sure what it does start with. I am only sure that it DOES and IS. But you don’t see it, I don’t see it.
I want this to stop. I can’t function like this anymore, but at the same time, part of me wants and needs to know where the voices are coming from. I’m afraid that is the part of me that will end up destroying the rest of me. I’m…I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. This needs to end, I don’t care how much those pills cost, this has to stop. I need to sleep. Maybe I’ve just been awake for too long. I’m going to try ginseng tea and honey. If that doesn’t work then cough syrup and vodka. I need to sleep.
Entry 8
I didn’t make it to the doctor’s or to work today, but I can almost hear them clearly. I realized that I could always hear better when my ear was to the pillow. That somehow, limiting my hearing improved my ability to comprehend the whispers. The pillow was the first step. I put my finger in my ear and it helped. I tried ear plugs and it moved things further but I still could not make out those notes or the choir or the secretive gossip. So, I took the next step by destroying my eardrums with a pencil. I can’t hear anything anymore, including the white noise. Nothing except for the whispers and almost my song.
The whispers sound so close. I think I belong with them, that maybe I used to be one of them? The music is so close I can almost feel it! Did I write this? Is it mine? It goes like ba-lala-ba-dum-lala I swear that’s how it goes. But why does it go like this? What else goes ba-lala-ba-dum-lala? I’m so close now I just need to go a little further. Losing my hearing brought me this far, maybe if I close my eyes it’ll go further? Maybe I’ll finally see what the music looks like. It goes ba-lala-ba-dum-lala, don’t you see it?! No, closing them won’t be enough, it needs to be the same as the ears. It must be disconnected. They need to be removed.
*****
“Coroner’s Report:
Subject is Marcus North. Confirmed by identification found in personal effects and by dental records. Found deceased by apparent suicide by exsanguination in his apartment. Mr. North has multiple, apparently self-inflicted injuries which resulted in extreme blood loss. Injuries in apparent chronological order include ear drums ruptured with Bic mechanical pencil, left eye removed from socket with spoon before optic nerve severed with paring knife, right eye ruptured with same paring knife, and finally, jugular severed by Mr. North’s own finger nails. North left no conventional suicide note, but did have a college-ruled notebook with a black cover on the floor close to his hands. The first twenty pages, which apparently once had writing on them, have been rendered completely illegible by Mr. North’s blood, which it seems that he deliberately applied to destroy the text.
On page twenty-one, Mr. North then wrote, in his own blood:
BETTER NOT KNOW
THEY SEE US
NO HUMAN
NO MUSIC
In capital, block letters. Although gruesome, there is no evidence as of yet to suggest homicide, but the investigation is on-going. Also of note is the…god dammit.”
Richard turned off the recording device to chastise his assistant.
“Tim, it’s hard enough to make sure this fucking thing picks up my voice over the ventilation. I don’t need you humming some dumb ass song on top of that.”
Tim stared at Richard, confused. “Rich, I got in trouble once before for asking out Debbie to lunch in the background of one of these tapes. I wouldn’t be here if I were dumb enough to fuck up something like this twice.”
“Well then, stop humming that song or turn off your phone, or wherever the hell that song is coming from.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t hear that song? It sounded something like uhh... ‘ba-lala-ba-dum-lala’ or something? I don’t even know. Well, it’s gone now, I must have imagined it.”
Cataclysm Classic: Leveling in a Shattered Landscape
Cataclysm Classic: Leveling in a Shattered Landscape
Do you consider the Horde to be "the bad guys" or is it more complex?
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Originally Posted by Venant
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