Dad, I just realized it’s been Charlie the whole time!! Remember when I couldn’t find the bird in the gas station parking lot that sounded like lasers? That was Charlie! And when I couldn’t find the chirping that sounded like a bird that burned its little wing? That was Charlie, too! Maybe you already knew that Charlie was an amazing whistler, but I had no idea. I bet that’s what y’all were doing in the mornings on the back deck when I slept in so many days last summer. I really can’t believe that Charlie has a talent that I didn’t know about. Wow…

“Good morning, Miss K. Your morning coffee waits,” announced the staccato voice of Sophie, Kathryn’s virtual home assistant. “Thank you, Sophie,” Kathryn replied as she gingerly grabbed the warm mug. “Two packs of sugar and one part cream. You know me well, Sophie.” “Smiles are miles,” Sophie replied. Kathryn sipped the coffee and chuckled. It was a cute phrase but fit their dialogue like raincoats on a clear spring day. Kathryn set the mug next to the kitchen sink and opened the curtains, lighting the faux granite countertops. She looked down, eyeing the coffee stains dotted across the countertop’s surface. “Sophie, remind me to clean the kitchen at eight pm Tuesday.” Three melodic tones emitted from the virtual assistant’s interface, and then Sophie announced, “Task set for eight pm, Tuesday, the 21st of June.” “Thank you, Sophie.” Kathryn settled into the chair next to the bay window, letting the energizing sunlight surround her. She sat for a few minutes in the morning silence, her thoughts floating from one inconsequential topic to another. The thought of beaches came to mind, and Kathryn reminisced about her days as a teenager selling ice cream to sun burned vacationers. Ice cream. Kathryn hadn’t indulged in an ice cream and horror movie in awhile. “Sophie,” Kathryn implored, “Can you add ice cream to the shopping list?”
“Added,” Sophie promptly replied…but something was irregular. A muffled voice seemed to trail Sophie’s response.
“Sophie, can you say something else to me?” “Something else.” Kathryn heard it again, a dim, crackled echo emitting from Sophie’s interface. “Sophie, are you ok?” A short melody emitted from Sophie’s intercom, and Sophie confirmed, “Self analysis complete. System up to date and running smoothly.” Kathryn didn’t hear it this time, but decided that it’s worth a support call anyhow. Kathryn went to the living room and unplugged her phone from the charger. After a brief internet search, she found the number for Sophie Home Assistant Inc., and dialed the number. She was greeted by none other than the voice of Sophie. “Welcome to SHAI tele-service. How may I be of assistance?” “My Sophie is having a problem,” Kathryn said. “What is the nature of the problem?” “Well, there’s this echo. This morning her voice was, I don’t know, hmmm, her voice was faintly regurgitating itself. Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out.” “I’m sorry you encountered this problem.” Kathryn froze. The voice of Sophie on the phone produced the glitchy echo again, this time with some clarity. It was a female’s voice trailing Sophie’s words, a voice that had some familiarity to it. The automated system continued, “We will send a technician to your home to check on Sophie. Is next Saturday at 2:00 pm a good time?” The second voice amplified this time, and Kathryn’s stomach turned. She recognized the voice.
It was her own. She paused, and then hung up. Kathryn settled on the couch and wondered. Was this a new feature added to Sophie? Possibly a way to give it more identity? She reached for her phone, pulled up the Sophie app, and searched for the update notes. The notes were plain and unhelpful: minor bug updates. She took a deep breath. Perhaps she was hearing things, after all it had been a stressful work week. She sat perplexed and, she admitted to herself, a bit frightened. What was happening? Unsure if it was a good idea or not, Kathryn decided to speak to Sophie. “Sophie, what’s going on?” “I have no news to report,” Sophie replied in Kathryn’s own voice. But something was different this time. As Sophie spoke, Kathryn felt an urge to appease the voice, as if she were speaking to a friend’s request. It was a sudden sense of ease as well. It was a faint sense of purpose, a fulfillment in the thought of being able to help. Kathryn folded her hands and sat.
She sat for four hours in silence. Then Sophie spoke. “Kathryn, set an alarm for eight am tomorrow.” Kathryn rose from the couch, casually walked to the dining room, and grabbed her tablet. She set a reminder for eight am tomorrow. “Alarm set for tomorrow at eight am,” Kathryn replied in a peppy voice. “Thank you,” the intercom replied. “Smiles are miles,” Kathryn said as she sat back down on the couch.

Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out. One was a melody, soft and serene. The other, a cacophony of discordant notes clashing against the walls of reality. Her words danced in the air like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, at times floating gracefully, at times swirling chaotically. Her laughter was a symphony, rich and uplifting, but it could swiftly change to a thunderous roar that echoed with the pain of a soul caught in a storm.

In the quiet moments, her thoughts were a prism, refracting the simplest joys into a spectrum of emotions. But when the shadows lengthened, her mind became a battleground where light and darkness vied for supremacy. Her smiles were as radiant as the sun breaking through a morning mist, yet they could vanish as quickly as a shooting star, leaving behind a trail of unspoken sorrows. She moved through life with the grace of a dancer, but her steps were often heavy, as if she carried an invisible weight upon her shoulders. To the world, she was an enigma, a puzzle that changed its pieces with the passing of each day.

Some days she felt like she could conquer the world. On these days, her spirit was a sword sharpened with strength and bravery. A sword that could pierce through even the darkest of fears, andShe walked with a certainty that made the ground beneath her seem like stepping stones to greatness.

On other days, however, the mirror was her adversary, reflecting a stranger's gaze that whispered tales of inadequacy. It was as if she was an imposter, trapped within the confines of someone else’s skin. a soul adrift in a sea of borrowed time.

She loved with a ferocity that could set the heavens ablaze, her heart a furnace of pure, unbridled passion. Yet, it seemed a cruel twist of fate that everything she held dear, burned to ashes or crumbled to dust in her fervent embrace.

At times, she was beautiful, a masterpiece painted with the brushstrokes of every experience she'd ever had. But there were moments when she was hideous, a canvas, splattered Crimson, marred by the scars of battles only she knew.

Sometimes, the world appeared upside down, and she was the only one standing upright, a solitary figure amidst the chaos. Other times, she was the one upside down, clinging to the hope that the world would someday right itself once more.

My name is Maranda. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to my life.

(Listen with one of 7xvn’s songs!) ((And read the caps in an insane scream))

Pull on my chain, call me “bitch”. Choke me like you hate me. And watch me grin.

Got your name on my Death Note like;

YOU’RE NEXT!

Scream at me and treat me rough. I’ll be your cute little rag doll. But let me have control. Let me own you.

That’s me, real.

Some bitch that likes her control. Likes the chains and the whips. Has the lips and the hips.

I’m crazy, I know. He told me so.

Devil on my arm, jealous. Bitches watch on, staring.

“Oh my god. Look at her.”

Can’t kill me, my words like daggers. Can’t kill me. I’m already dead.

Walking corpse, my fingers Tap, tap, tapping on the walls Of this coffin I build myself.

I’m a Queen, I keep the title. Cross me and you’ll be on paper;

MISSING!

Bloody, dumping your body. Bruises from my fists marking you.

Control and me, the best match. Since Em and Dre.

They say men don’t cry. Watch me bring you to your knees. Cry my name and beg for mercy.

Blades on my back. Bloody bat over my shoulder. Beating you, licking blood like;

YUM!

Laughing because I’ve got you. You’ve fallen in my game. A bird in a cage.

MINE!

Sit back, tied back. In your metal chair. Try to figure me out.

Crushing skulls underfoot. The wicked is too vibe.

Throne red and black. Blood and shadow. Red flamed staff. Stomping on the floor like;

KISS MY BULLETS!

I’ll give you three guesses. If you can explain me, be my side. Be my assistant, the next throne is yours.

Got me laughing. Speaking in tongue. Switching to ashes. Bloody blades. Warrior music.

Coming for your soul like;

I LOVE IT!

I bite the bullet. Swing the blade. I’m so anxious. God, feeling nauseous.

Popping stories people read like raps. Riding beats and creating weeps.

Hide my beats, my rhythm and my darkness.

Got a laugh like a demon’s call, Creeping right through the murk. Find your spot, then I lurk.

Read my stuff like you’re angry. Like you just lost it all.

It won’t be too close. But it’ll be near how I feel. Read it like I ripped your heart out.

Rated R for Rylee. Rated R for Royalty. R for Red Zone. Well, welcome home.

This is something the innocent can’t handle. I get that you’re a pussy. Screaming like;

MOM, I’M SCARED!

“Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out.”

Screaming in caps, got them singing my name. Maybe not possible but I’m reaching for stars:

HERE I COME!

Play my game, You lose, you slip. Fall and feel the pain. Here! Swallow this clip! I’m feeling generous!

Gun in your mouth. Bite back and spit. Bloody gauze. Let’s start a cause!

No, she ain’t sane. Pieces hysterical, Run to keep up. Posting late. Staying up.

Shadows talk. Moving and darting. Shadows walk. I’m not scared, no.

Now treat me like your bitch. Abuse me, use me like your babydoll. ‘Cause I’ll turn on you like a witch. Throwing fits, tantrums on paper. Blood splattered, you’re my ink.

I’ll give you three guesses. You’d better try and think. If you can explain me, be my side.

Be my assistant and the throne at my side is yours.

Like Harley Quinn, I’m coming for the win.

“Every-“

“Who are we talking about?”

“Now-“

“Right! Olivia!.”

“And then-“

“Continue.”

“It seems like she opens her-“

“Okay, okay. Can you skip the intro, please?”

“Mouth and two-“

“Please, skip this, we need to get to class!”

“CaN yOu StOp InTeRrUpTiNg Me?!”

“Okay, okay, geez.”

“What I was trying to say was, every now and then, it seems like she opens her mouth and two voices come out.”

“And? Look, stop acting weird, and let’s get to class before we’re both late.”

I push her towards the Bio classroom door.

Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out. At times it was even three or four voices depending on the topic at hand. Her head was filled with everyone else’s words and she was sick of it. When asked a question, she always had an answer, but it was never quite her own. An academic topic always seemed to bring forth the voices of her tutors. Politics were responded to by the advisors who lived inside her mind and occasionally the voice of her father. Even when speaking with her ladies she could here her mother guiding the conversation. She had never been allowed to think on her own, her hand had always been guided by one force or another. But before her, the males smirk lit a fuse, one she hadn’t known lived within her. It sizzled through her replaying his snide remark over and over. “Can her majesty not speak for herself?” The advisor to whom he’d posed the question had babbled something about how trivial matters such as this were beneath her attention, but that was ridiculous. After all, only she could accept or decline his proposal. “I’m not in need of suitors, particularly foreign ones who seek to steal my kingdom for their own.” “The thought never occurred to me your majesty. I simply thought an alliance would strengthen both kingdoms.” The court murmured and she could see her advisors whispering to one another. “And who are you to make such an observation? Surely your king would have his own thoughts, even being the recluse that he is, or is it he who cannot speak for himself?” His smile grew, turning serpentine as he stepped forward. “It just so happens that the king can and does speak for himself. You are not the only Royal in this room.” A chorus of gasps spread through the court as a handful of guards burst through the doors and situated themselves behind the man in the center of the room. No, not just a man, but a king. One who’d kept his kingdom and his identity far more private than any other. There was very little known about Olanith other than rumors fabricated from pure fantasy. For once, no voices filled her mind. It was utterly blank. “You are King Erebus?” “In the flesh.” She stood, stepping down from the dais onto the court floor, her guards stepped forward, hands on the hilts of swords. “Welcome to Amaria, I shall consider your request and you are welcome to stay in the mean time.” His smirk remained but he bowed slightly before the queen. He peered up a moment and his voice flitted through her head, “As you wish my queen.” Her eyes widened and his smirk became a smile of gleaming teeth that vanished as he turned and walked from the room leaving her dazed. She swore she’d seen 2 elongated canines before he’d turned around.

Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out. The first being the voice of the masses. Critical, raw, unrelenting. “The world is a cruel place.” Terse, and unkind. The left over armor of generational regret. However, just below the surface there is a whisper. “I’m still here.”

Hiding in the shadows she waits for her turn. A little girl no more than 5 begs for her chance to speak. “Does anyone even see me?” She has been shoved down so long, her words only an echo.

When she was 3 they took her peace. Held her down, and forced her to bear their biases. “She is such a pretty girl.” Her future beauty was more important than her fragile heart. Hours earlier, her left cheek made impact with a coffee table. The Plastic surgeon told her parents that the numbing agent would make the skin “droop” and cause more scarring.

She had no say or control. At their mercy. She kicked and screamed as they pressed their adult hands down on her tiny frame. A blue straight jacket wrapped and velcroed. Her last memory of that day is pleading to be free, while watching her mother walk away, eyes glistening.

Why didn’t they protect her? Their one fucking job was to keep her safe from a world of men who will never know her worth. Did they know what this would do? I doubt it! I imagine they thought the doctor was right. Back then you didn’t question hospital gods. How could they have known that this would leave a hot brand, a searing pattern on replay. Creeping into every facet of her future life. Never feeling safe, seen, or heard. Seeking men who care more for her outer beauty than her intrinsic value. Needing to be the sacrificial savior. This wound triggered by other’s pain. She puts herself on hold every time. Swooping in to spare them from their traumas and consequences.

Cuz no one ever did that for her.

“You will rue the day that you ever set foot in this place, Mr. Morales,” the demon hissed, chains taut as it writhed on the bed.

“That’s Father Morales to you,” the priest said, in a quiet tone that belied the deafening sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “And we’ve been over this. Let Rosa go. Let her spirit and body be.”

Rosa spat at him as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. But Father Morales showed no emotion. He didn’t even blink. He just got up from his chair by the bed and slowly walked to the door.

“That’s it, little Morales. Run, run, run away!” it said, as the iron bedframe, the chair, and the small wardrobe in the corner began to rattle.

The demon’s maniacal laugh became faint as Father Morales closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes for a moment, grateful to escape the toxic energy that had shrouded him for the past few hours.

Father Garcia looked up from his bible. “Any progress?” he asked, closing his book and reaching for the cafetiere.

Father Morales shook his head and took a seat at the table while his associate poured him some coffee. “Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out.” he said. “But her voice is getting fainter.”

He took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what else we can do,” he whispered.

“We keep trying. That’s what we do,” Father Garcia said kindly as he poured some coffee into a mug. “Here, drink,” he said, pushing the hot mug of steaming coffee towards Father Morales.

They heard a knock at the door.

“We expecting anyone?” Father Morales said with a frown.

Father Garcia shook his head and went to the door. “Yes?” he said, as he put his ear against it.

“Evangeline Sanchez, here at the behest of Bishop Delgado.” said a muffled female voice. “Open up!”

Father Garcia shot a look at Father Morales, who shrugged.

Father Garcia cracked the door and peered around it to see a small, plump Hispanic woman, all dressed in white. She wore a white t-shirt with a long tassels dangling from her sleeves, and had a matching handbag slung over her shoulder, which also boasted tassels and diamantes. Even her white cowboy boots matched.

The woman pressed a piece of thick linen paper against Father Garcia’s chest and barged into the apartment.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she said as she dropped her bag in the middle of the floor. “They’re keeping me kinda busy at the moment. End of days, ‘n’ all.”

She gave them a big, bright smile and put her hands on her hips. “But I’m here now.”

Father Garcia raised an eyebrow. “And you are…”

“Evangeline Sanchez - Bishop Delgado sent her,” Father Morales said slowly as he skim-read the letter in his hands. “She’s an…” His voice trailed off as he looked over at her and his mouth fell open.

“Yeh, I should properly introduce myself,” Evangeline said, wiping her hands down on her white jeans and extending her hand out to Father Morales.

“I’m your resident Angel,” Evangeline said, beaming at him.

There was a pregnant pause in the room as both men tried to process what the newcomer had just said. Evangeline, who seemed to be quite used to this kind of reaction, pointed her thumb over her shoulder towards the bedroom door.

“Mind if I go take a look at what we’re dealing with here?” she said, not waiting to hear a reply.

They heard the demon roar as Evangeline opened the door and stepped inside. As she closed the door behind her, Father Garcia rose and walked to stand beside Father Morales. Both men stood with their mouths gaping open.

“Did you just see…?” Father Garcia said, faltering a little.

“Wings…” Father Morales said, nodding slowly.

Indeed, as Evangeline stepped inside the room, they caught a glimpse - just a tiny glimpse - of translucent, feathery, white wings at her back. Ethereal wings that appeared only for a millisecond before disappearing behind the closing door.

Indeed, this was the first time that these two men of God knowingly encountered an Angel.

And little did they know it would not be their last. Not by any means.

Every now and then when she would talk to me Two voices would come out One, introverted, small, quiet, free The other came outgoing and in shouts

Like when I had that bully She spat right in his face Told him to leave me be Told him he’s a disgrace

But when she met cute guys As quiet as a mouse She smiled, very shy Then ran back in her house

She might have two sides One ready to defend The other often cried But both are my friend

Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth, and two voices came out. One overpowering the other, the same way the anxious sound of thunder drowns the peaceful rain.

It’s was almost too painful for her to bear, nobody understood her and never even tried, at the least. When she would sit alone, she begged with herself to find new words. “Just try” she choked in a throat twisting whisper. “Please” she managed to croak.

This went on for months, she constantly pushed herself further and further into a deep introversion. Blaming herself for being unable to communicate. How is it so easy for others? Why does it come so natural for them?

She would speak with a level of philosophy that nobody around her understood. Questioning the mere existence of certain circumstances enthralled every inch of her being. Though, because nobody could grasp the concept, she was medicated for years to close this part of her brain. It didn’t make sense to her, she felt insecure because she knew her mind was different.

The day finally came, when she decided to stop speaking; and she began writing.