The whispers seep through the heat vents from the metro station and flutter into my ear
In commanding voices they talk to me
Angry, mean, sad, comforting, scary
Racing through my mind, exploring every nook and cranny
As I yell and fight the voices,
the few stragglers left, mainly partiers and low-lifes, like myself,
scurry along the dirty sidewalks
Like cockroaches
They walk right on past me with the occasional fearful glance
Thinking that my outbursts of swinging fists and trembling screams are my fault
That I’m the culprit
Not knowing that I was once like them, before my mind was alienated from me by the voices
Their ignorance seeps inside my soul further degrading me
As I try to recollect the few fragments of sanity
I feel the rough concrete and rusted metal under my thumb
rubbing away at it as if it will help
when I truly know that only home will help
but those memories of warm chicken soup and the smell of the gas stove being lit and the feel of adjusting the thermostat have all seeped away through the years
their sweetness being steeped into the harsh outside
like tea in lukewarm water
I try to fall back asleep
but each voice is its own alarm clock
Jolting my awake with another hurtful word
I tell them to shut up for once, but they are not good listeners
Forcefully I burrow myself into my slightly damp blankets and try to snuggle up closer to the side of the train station
Like always, that does not help
After hours of fighting
The sun approaches and I realize sleep has left me out like everything else
not even its warm embrace dares to touch me
only the voices are their for me, for better or for worse
Pryce Davies is in the ninth grade at Haverford High School. He enjoys playing soccer, competing in the competition band, reading, and spending time with his family.