The Voices

Adrian was girl always lost in her thoughts.She could never make a decision. She always advocated for both sides of the argument. There was a voice inside here, battling with her conscious. And the voice never stopped.

She had brown skin and black eyes. Her least favourite thing in the world to do was to tie her hair. So she always chopped off her hair such that the ends touched her ear lobes. She never tied them. In her eyes, she looked the most beautiful when she had short hair. You see, she struggled a bit with self esteem. And that is the second biggest problem of her life.

Today was a Tuesday morning, and Adrian woke up feeling happy. She opened her eyes and looked out through her glass window, and she knew with all her heart that today was going to be a beautiful day. Now, for Adrian this doesn't happen very often. Most days, she woke up with a sigh. A weight settled on her chest no questions asked. Days far in the memory lane, a friend had called her "The child of melancholia", but she hated melancholia, though the voice in her head sought it, and she didn't know why.

And so! On days like this when she wakes up happy, she thrives on the happiness. She smiled to herself - wide and clear. Suddenly, something about the red brick wall next door made her giggle.

She was humming to herself her favourite songs for the rest of the morning.She played music in her dusty I-pod, she listened to at-least a fifty songs. She passed through songs that usually pulled down her spirits, but today! today she was invincible. She gently made her way to the kitchen, walking to the rhythm of her song. Tea is what she craved for. She was making her tea, listening to the songs, but lost in thoughts.

In the last ten months of living alone, she realized that loneliness was not her friend. She hated being alone, everyday all day. She often wondered how it would be if she asked for a room-mate again.

She was sad they wouldn't allow it. May be she should she push the warden for it strongly, she thought. But the problem was that she couldn't push too hard, they would label her "violent" again.

She reached out to her tea she had made. And suddenly, there was no cup. She turned back to her I-pod, but there was no music. She heard screams in her head, voices fighting in her head, the voices she wanted to escape. Or may be it was her who screamed. And just like that, she was back to her void. And she welcomed the melancholia without a fight.