Ta-da! Poetry! I instruct you to go to the Notes and Credits section. "Quand tu regarderas le ciel, la nuit, puisque j'habiterai dans l'une d'elles, puisque je rirai dans l'une d'elles, alors ce sera pour toi comme si riaient toutes les étoiles. Tu auras, toi, des étoiles qui savent rire!" Le Petit Prince
The screenshots were taken on March 3, 2024, before I made this project. I just don't want to forget them, so they're here. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A comment. An objection. A joke. A laugh. Two sides, always. Always two. But then the other side goes quiet and sneaks out of earshot so it won't have to hear that little pest's voice. "I thought you liked me," the little pest says. No reply comes; the other side can't hear that little pest's voice. The little pest repeats the words the other side used to say, trying to remember the not-so-pest voice. Far away, the other side says, "I'm so glad I can't remember that little pest's voice." The little pest wants a conversation with two sides, but the answer's universal: "I'd hate to be stuck with that little pest's voice." So the little pest decides to split itself in half. "Two half-sides is better than hearing again how no one in the world likes my little pest voice." And the little pest is happy with the one side turned to two, even if it has to hear its little pest voice. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ :) I suppose one might say I used another's idea, so here, be thanked. Thank you, @MysticScratches, for politely forcing me to write this poem with a question mark. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Chairs scrape over the floor, something falls with a bang. Their laughs are alarms, the words are curses. Someone cries, someone shrieks, and I don't have energy to care. A volleyball to the head and giggled apologies are blurred. I feel like something's missing from me. Let me leave. The door slams, and I wince. Sound shouldn't be painful. I stand, I leave, I walk away. I climb a mountain for ages and ages. They're so far away, but I still hear them, the echoes. Just a little farther, then, at the top, I'll be free of this noise. I grow weary. I slow. No, no... Just a little more, it's right there, right there... The top never gets any closer. Where does hope go when you need it? My speed decreases. The noise catches up. No! Make it stop! Their voices... Spare me! Spare...despair... I cover my ears, but it's hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless...helpless. Endless anger. Just a little more... But I'll never get there! They're everywhere, like ants, but you can't kill a noise. I hate them. It's hopeless. Too loud, too loud. Go away! They fill all the cracks in my brain. Give me space! A fist to the ground—solid rock, but who cares? Over and over, until I think I broke a bone. Doesn't matter. Awful sounds, they drive me away. The top grows nearer. Just a little more... Yes, almost there, sound drains slowly away. Silence, a treasure better than gold, is in reach. It is reached, and the enemies rush in on the wind. Stupid! Why did you think you'd be safe on the top? It's cold, it's empty, and I'm pushed by the voices, the noises, the never-ending dread. I fall past the thoughts of a million worlds. ...19.2 meters 100%... ....stars that can laugh! A verbal composition... If only, if only... ...carbon, nitrogen, oxygen... Each louder than the one before, I fall to my death. Maybe I'll go deaf. Symphony No. 9 plays beyond full volume, and voices scream right in my ears, "There's a zombie on the lawn." The radio's static makes an ugly background, but the pretty girls think this is the best. Be quiet, please, I beg you! Despair, disrepair. I cough, then again, more violently. I can't breath! Give me air! The water is cold—four degrees C? It splashes when I touch it. It tastes like salt. Ice chunk to the head, no apologies for that. The water's not quiet; it has sounds of panic. Give me air! Give me air! It insists that I don't know how to swim. But I do! I do! I've practiced for years! The laughter, cruel, leaks into the water. Excuse me, sir, but I'd like to inform you that this water is contaminated. I'm dizzy, can't see, only hear those mocking words. Is this what headaches are like? I guess I'll die to them, huh? They put the question mark through a paper shredder and the Laughing Death infects me. I die.
