Daisies

Whispers. So many of them. It is too loud.

The milky ceiling drips water onto my face as I look up at it. Puddles of water fill my eyes and my nose and my mouth, suffocating me. And the whispers carry on, not quite distinguished enough for me to make out what they are saying no matter how much I strain my ears.

Soon enough, the water begins to dribble out the corners of my eyes, overflowing at last. I feel strangely accomplished.

And then there is the noise of crying. It sounds familiar. Maybe it is myself, maybe it is one of them again. I try to open my eyes, but they are already open. How can there be more than one place to direct my vision to? I decide to stay in the milky white room. It is safe here.

“Is she going to be okay?” I have heard that very question many times before. It tends to irritate me, but this time I was curious as to who was asking it. There is no one else here besides me. This world is empty. I am alone. But I like it that way. Then where are the whispers and the voices coming from? I decide not to think about it too much. Thinking tends to hurt me.

“Thank you. I was looking for that pillow earlier, dear.” A different voice. It is still familiar. I feel something sting the back of my head and I twitch violently, convulsing in anxiety.

“Get off of me! Don't touch me! I can't even see you!” That voice is probably my own. It echoes longer than the other ones, making me dizzy as I clutch my face, scratching and digging.

There is red. Is it the beginning of another rainbow? I'm not even angry. I am simply afraid. I think it is blood. My blood. I stop clawing at my face and tilt my head to the side. The whispers have stopped, but they are slowly coming back.

I scream. I scream as loud as I possibly can, but the horrifying sounds of pure agony are unheard by everyone but myself. The whispers continue, and no matter how much I try to hear their words, I can't. Maybe they are trying to tell me something. Maybe they aren't.

I scream again.