This is supernatural ability given to me. Its supposed to be a good thing but the way it is now, any sane person would not like to deal with the environment that I am rotting in. I dont want this.
At night, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They hissed things I couldn't ignore—fragments of sentences, cryptic warnings, names I didn't recognize. Sometimes, they sounded like the man in the park. Other times, they were completely unfamiliar, voices layered over one another until they became an unbearable cacophony. I pressed my hands to my ears, squeezed my eyes shut, and begged them to stop. But they never did.
One evening, after another sleepless night, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. What I saw made my blood run cold. The scar on my forehead—it wasn't just a scar anymore. It glowed faintly, a soft, pulsating light that seemed to emanate from beneath my skin. I stared at it, transfixed, as the whispers crescendoed in my mind.
*"You can't hide forever,"* they said. *"The Third Eye sees everything."*
I stumbled back, knocking over a bottle of shampoo. My reflection stared back at me, wide-eyed and pale, and for a split second, I thought I saw something else in the mirror—another pair of eyes, glowing blue, staring out from the darkness behind me. I spun around, heart racing, but there was nothing there. Just the empty bathroom.
Panic set in. I turned off the light, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over my head, trembling. I told myself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Anything but the truth. But deep down, I knew—I was losing control. The Third Eye wasn't fiction. It was real. And it was consuming me.
The scar on my forehead pulsed with an otherworldly light and the voices in my head threatened to drive me mad. I spent the entire day pacing my apartment, alternately screaming at the whispers to leave me alone and begging them for answers. By the time night fell, I was a wreck.
That's when I noticed the threads again. They'd been faint before, barely visible, but now they were everywhere—writhing, twisting, connecting everything around me. I could see them in the walls, in the furniture, even in my own hands. Each thread shimmered with a different color, vibrating with energy. I reached out to touch one, and the moment my fingers brushed against it, a surge of electricity shot through me.
Images flooded my mind—flashes of places I'd never been, people I didn't know, events that hadn't happened yet. I gasped, pulling my hand back, but the damage was done. The threads began to unravel faster, fraying at the edges as if the fabric of reality itself was coming apart.
"No!" I shouted, clutching my head. "Stop! Make it stop!"
But it didn't stop. The room spun, the threads spiraling out of control, and then everything went black. When I came to my senses, I was lying on the floor, my body soaked in sweat. The apartment was silent, the threads gone—or at least hidden once more. For a moment, I thought I'd imagined it all. But as I sat up, I realized something was different. The scar on my forehead no longer glowed.
I stumbled to the mirror again, half-expecting to see those same glowing blue eyes staring back at me. But it was just me. Just my reflection.
The whispers returned, softer this time, almost soothing.
*"Accept it,"* they cooed. *"Embrace it. You are chosen."*
I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. Denial had failed me. Reality had shattered. And now somewhere deep inside, i wanted to explore.