A Whisper

A silent room with silent people and a whisper enters my ear.

“They’re thinking about you. They’re judging you. You're hair is messed up. They know you don't feel comfortable."

I mess with the front of my shirt and readjust the sleeves of my blazer. This is the interview that may decide the next ten years of my life. This matters. But the whisper comes back, louder now.

"You have no shot. You're not prepared. You will never get this job. Never."

I'm itching. I need to move, run, run away. The whisper fills my brain and the world around me turns foggy. No longer am I in a room. I'm in my own mind, and I'm trapped. It is dark and dangerous and the whisper has transformed into a horrible monster.

Fangs and claws and acid dripping from every pore. It stopped whispering. It started shouting.

In my head I scream back, but in reality I scream at nothing. They call the police, and I scream at nothing.

I scream at nothing, forever, and they call me mad.