Sam was weird. She would think of the randomest things at the most random moments.
While driving, she would contemplate of bizarre ways of dying, maybe she would run into the divider, maybe the truck behind her would skid and ram into her, maybe she’d doze off and never wake up again…
She noticed her hair forming beautiful patterns as it fell on the bathroom floor. She recognised eerily familiar faces in the paint that peeled off the walls of her room. Her head was filled with questions, she even had questions about having questions.
She would sit down to write with a clear head and completely veer off. She liked the idea of being in a relationship, but she couldn’t wait for it to end almost as soon as it began. She felt out of place among people of her own age, there was always something pulling her back.
She tried in vain to ignore that tiny voice in her head – to be normal like everyone else – to have fun, to speak for hours and yet say nothing. This voice of hers, she believed, was not the voice of reason or the voice of intellect, it was a voice of dissent. It refused to concede to loose statements, to inadequate proof and to plain praise.
She didn’t think of herself as exceptional or even close to it. She didn’t want to be different all the time. She loved that little voice, but sometimes, just sometimes, she wished that it would just SHUT UP, In vain..