hi!1 my name is beca and i luv harry styls unicorns pewdipie and nic cage lol!!11 i like singig writing storys and sometimes I hear voices. Voices in my head. They tell me to do things. Things I don't like. Bad things. And the voices, they're always so goddamn specific on what it is they want me to do. Kill Mr Fincher, they say. Kill Him With A Knife At 3:00pm On Thursday 23rd September 2014. The Stainless Steel Stanley Knife Must Slice Through His Large Intestine And Kidneys. Of course, I resist. I ignore the voices, pretending they're not there. Sometimes I even tell them to go away, but talking to them only makes them even more desperate. And that's how they get to you. They're voices... are so fucking urgent. They whisper, but it's like they're about to die. They spit out sentences on what sounds like they're on their dying breath, every fucking time. And I'm a sympathetic person, I really am. And, well, I don't want to let them down. And at the end, it feels like I have no choice. I had to kill Mr Fincher with a knife. I had to decapitate my Danny's pet rat. I had to push that screw through my baby sister's finger. And I don't do it... they... talk even more. And more. And more. The deaths have a deadline, and the closer I get to that point the more urgent they become. Kill Him! they say. Kill Him Please. Kill Him For Us. It's What We Want. It's What We Need. He Can't Live. Rebecca, Kill Him. Do It. Slice His Large Intestines Like Banana Skins.Puncture His Kidneys Like Balloons. Hurt Him. Make Him Bleed. Make Him Cry And Scream And Watch His Organs Spill Out of His Body And Don't Regret Your Actions Because You Did It For A Reason And You're No Criminal Rebecca.