He tried to resist.
He wanted to resist.
But the voices in his head were soft, calm, almost caring. They didn't command — they persuaded.
— Relax… we're here… you don't need to fight…
And the most terrifying part was that his mind itself wanted to listen. Not because he was forced to — but because there, among those voices, it was peaceful. There, he didn't have to think, choose, or be afraid.
He covered his ears with his hands and screamed, gathering the last of his will:
— I want to leave!
The world exploded into light.
He suddenly sat up in bed. His heart was pounding. The room was familiar. Real. His parents were sitting beside him — worried, alive.
It wasn't an illusion.
It was reality.
They told him it had been a dream.
He nodded.
But with each passing day, something inside him grew empty. Too quiet. Too… lonely. He caught himself waiting for those voices. Listening to the walls. To the silence. To his own thoughts — hoping they would speak again in a voice that wasn't his.
He began to miss them.
Not the place.
The voices.
He couldn't live without them. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't focus. His reality felt rough and cold compared to that soft, slow sweetness of surrender.
And one day, he found himself there again.
Without fear.
Without resistance.
When the voices spoke, he didn't scream anymore. He simply closed his eyes and let them guide him. His mind no longer fought — it wanted to belong.
— We're glad, — they said.
And this time, he obeyed completely.
Forever.