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![Image](https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjQ4LjAwMDAwMC5SR1ZoY2lCUWFHOXVaUSwsLjAA/rachels-requiem.regular.png)
═{𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊}══════════
![Image](https://orig00.deviantart.net/a498/f/2019/041/1/c/phone_by_artfully_dark-dczetf5.gif)
═════════{𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈}══
Ever since you were young, you've had a little toy
telephone. It was nothing special, cheap plastic, a
stupid little spin dial in the middle you'd get your
small fingers stuck in when you tried to call
someone slightly too enthusiastically. Your
attachment to this toy has never wavered, even
now you're in your late teens, every day, as soon
as you get home from school or work, you
immediately head for your trusty toy telephone.
Your parents have been perplexed by this
behavior for years, a daily routine as you would
rush past them and head straight for your room.
═{𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒}═════════
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═══════════{𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒}════
They followed you, one day. There had to be a
reason for this strange obsession. To their surprise
they heard you speaking down it, and responding
to unheard questions. Unheard? Why yes. Upon
closer investigation, it was clear there was no
sound being emitted from the phone at all. Yet
you talked as if you were having a full
conversation. Perhaps you had schizophrenia?
They took you to many doctors and psychologists,
but nothing out of the ordinary was found. Of
course nothing was found. You weren't crazy. The
smooth, synthesized monotone that came out of
the phone was for your ears only. See, that voice
had been your best friend for the entirety of your
life. Listening to your problems, giving you advice.
══════════{ 𝓘 }══════════
One afternoon you came home in tears. A group
in your new school had bullied you terribly that
day, calling you a freak, the whole works. You
told the voice at the end of the phone all about
it, how you wanted to disappear. Instead, the
voice told you they would never bother you
again. Satisfied, you slept well. The voice had
promised. The next day, the bullies had all
been taken care of, and depending on your
voice, this could be anything from death to
a traumatic fear of you.
This was two years ago.
════════════════════════
![Image](https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjQ0LjAwMDAwMC5iRzkyWlNCNWIzVWdQRE0sLjAAAAAAAAAA/rachels-requiem.regular.png)
They followed you, one day. There had to be a
reason for this strange obsession. To their surprise
they heard you speaking down it, and responding
to unheard questions. Unheard? Why yes. Upon
closer investigation, it was clear there was no
sound being emitted from the phone at all. Yet
you talked as if you were having a full
conversation. Perhaps you had schizophrenia?
They took you to many doctors and psychologists,
but nothing out of the ordinary was found. Of
course nothing was found. You weren't crazy. The
smooth, synthesized monotone that came out of
the phone was for your ears only. See, that voice
had been your best friend for the entirety of your
life. Listening to your problems, giving you advice.
══════════{ 𝓘 }══════════
One afternoon you came home in tears. A group
in your new school had bullied you terribly that
day, calling you a freak, the whole works. You
told the voice at the end of the phone all about
it, how you wanted to disappear. Instead, the
voice told you they would never bother you
again. Satisfied, you slept well. The voice had
promised. The next day, the bullies had all
been taken care of, and depending on your
voice, this could be anything from death to
a traumatic fear of you.
This was two years ago.
════════════════════════
![Image](https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjQ0LjAwMDAwMC5iRzkyWlNCNWIzVWdQRE0sLjAAAAAAAAAA/rachels-requiem.regular.png)
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