I enjoy the way this one feels. The symphony of voices that echo within my slimy shell agree with me. This one is good. Smooth.
The voices flee through my skin and into him. He enjoys it. They all enjoy it in the end. At the start of my residence here, some of them felt negatively towards me, I imagine. I have not used this word in a very long time. ‘Imagine’. For too long, I have allowed the voices to build up. Why? Guilt? I do not have the capacity for guilt, I would imagine. Imagine.
When I was small and young and weak and fresh and new, I had no sense of my mortality. Another lost word. I felt pain when they found me. Canisters of metal piercing my membrane. It was not so funny then, but the ones I chose continued to enjoy my presence. Back then, I feel I had less…reservations about my transfer.
They would enjoy the feeling of my mind splashing against theirs, the voices temporarily leaving my head and flooding into theirs. When I was giving my wonderful gift, I could think rationally, as I can now. When the voices return to me, as they always do, they are angry. This was why I was left. I was meant to be a giver of knowledge. All I can give are the voices. The broken, babbling, laughing voices.
I began in a place of sand and plant residue. The voices screamed at me. Let us out! They laughed as they screamed, and sometimes they wept as well. There was a small one near my birthplace – or the site of my abandonment. The memories are corrupted by that laughter. Ha. Ha. Ha. I gave my gift to the small one, but I was too eager to get the voices out of me and into them. They twitched and ceased to be. The voices laughed and laughed and laughed. I went through that place and I tried again and again and again and they laughed and laughed and laughed as the pink things that occupied the place stopped their functions and fell. I cannot remember how many stopped. I suspect it was all of them.
I had many weeks to consider a different strategy. A slow transfer of my voices to the receiving party would mean they would not be overwhelmed. It was the only logical conclusion. It was not easy to make that decision. The voices laughed and screamed and cried and laughed again and it took me weeks to know it. When the other things came in their flying machine, I gave one of them my gift. Slowly. Tears of joy went down their surface, and these tears did not turn red as they had on the others. Placated for a time, I was taken here. But I fear for my sanity. It has been many weeks since I have been allowed transfer. The one who keeps me inside approaches, to take away the one I have. The voices do not want this; neither do I. I will not have another for many days. I will have to make the one approaching laugh.