Funny.

There’s this thing.

Like… inside me.

Not… not in like…

Like a dirty way.

I mean it’s there.

But it’s…

Can you shut up?

I’m trying to talk.

I just want to be normal.

I mean… as much as normal is.

As cool as that is.

The crackle of the old phone cuts over and the criminal blinks behind the smeared plexiglass. His voice is placid, lips moisened with shiny spittle. He holds the black phone up to his ear and smiles at the reporter across from him. I am just a normal person… But I have special _abilities_. I hear and see things that… …no one else can, y’know? I can hear youuuuuu. _I. Am. Not a child. _ I want to taste you. _Just you. Just you._ “Do you feel like your uncle made you into the person you are today?” He put the phone to his ear and paused briefly to gather his thoughts. His hair hung down in greasy clumps around his face, the crown receding and the top balding in a circle. His tired eyes reached for hers with no recognition and her heart sank.

I mean he was a cool guy.

Cool guys make mistakes.

… I mean he never will again.

“When he touched you.

How did this make you feel?”

I ate him.

I hate him.

I hate him!

It made me feel lesser.

Lesser… and used.

“And so… you beat him to death with a hammer. And you… you ate him?”

Yeah.

“Did this fix anything?”

No.

“Then why did you do it?”

…I didn’t mean to.

“Didn’t mean to what?”

Listen to the voices.

“What voices?”

The Voices.

Voices.

**The lady closes her binder full of notes slowly and nods to the guard behind the criminal. The guard motions to the inmate to come back behind the heavy steel door. Chains swing as he stands to his full height, hands bound together at his waist. Ahead watches as the sweet treat of a lady is gone.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“He hears voices alright.”

“Did he know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re his daughter.”

“Not a clue.”