In my dreams, they follow and become nightmares. No matter what activity or thought is at hand, the little bits of voices are always nearby. The sound of their torment ranges from small whispers predicting the next word in every conversation to a choir lamenting the loss of another moment to their song.
I don't fear much in life. Violence doesn't scare me: physical pain is a joke. Every instant feels like another, so I'm not as afraid of tomorrow as I was yesterday. The greatest fear in my life is their pursuit. For a long time, my hope hinged on peace in love, death, and understanding. With their accompaniment into my love and mangling of any understanding, only death seems safe. What leaves me cold and awake at night are not just the memories that never match, but the growing fear that when my time comes, they will follow. Every hour of every day, they remind me of their presence in some small way: as my past changes from a moment, to a memory, and to another dream, they follow and become nightmares.