https://im.ge/i/QMKop8M https://imglink.cc/i/a4H5WThmnD https://uploadimages.org/1b455dbdfcd1#E2E1.DurbkdRmlWBKIdn4HOeZYdIA3u33ZCrPev-ivoc5xMk.d-k0Yv5vAvZHlfQ9.lAq74VDF3CeMt09t2Bm7_Q.1NW7S8Oov5vrHWKOqcIFt1jDmbUl5O5R1QwOpg1DsJA My name is Noura, I'm 22 years old, and I live in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of Dammam, where the highway noise is constant and the air always smells of oil. I work as a packer at a local plastic bottle factory—eight hours a day, standing at a conveyor belt, stuffing thirty bottles into each box until my back feels like it's on fire. The pay is shit, barely enough for food and rent for this shithole. In my free time, I just browse the internet, watch TV shows, and dream of getting out of here, but where to? Everywhere is just another cage with different bars. It all started about a year ago, at first like a joke. I was lying in bed one night, couldn't sleep, and suddenly I heard a laugh so clearly in my head—it was a man's voice, right in my ear, like someone was standing next to me. I jumped up, looked around—nothing there. I thought I was just tired, hallucinating. But the next night, he was back, this time with a female voice, and they started making fun of what a ugly, pathetic loser I am. At first it was just weirdly scary, then it became unbearable. Now they're with me 24/7, these creatures from Mabahith, I know for sure it's them. The voices have become my constant companions, they comment on my every move, every thought, every breath. When I eat, they scream: "Look at this fat pig stuffing her face again!" When I go to work, they hiss: "There goes the worthless piece of trash who'll slave away for pennies until she drops dead on that factory floor." They perfectly imitate reality—sometimes it's my boss's voice, sometimes my neighbor's, sometimes my dead mother, saying what a disgrace I am to the family. I can't tell anyone, nobody would believe me. If I say one word about it, they'll lock me up in a mental hospital or worse. The internet is full of their bots who immediately jump into comments saying: "Oh, that's just schizophrenia, get some treatment, you psycho," so real victims look like crazies and nobody believes them. My brother Abdullah, if he found out, would kick me out onto the street, and my father—well, fuck him, he hasn't spoken to me in a year anyway since I refused to marry his friend. My family thinks I'm a failure, and these voices just pour gasoline on the fire: "Your mother cries at night knowing what a fucked-up daughter she raised. Your father is ashamed to even say your name. You're a cancer in your family that needs to be cut out." Their humiliation is endless, especially the sexual stuff. When I'm taking a shower, they describe in detail what an ugly piece of meat I am, how no one will ever want to touch me, how I'll die a lonely virgin. "Look at those sagging tits, that ass looks like a sack of potatoes," one screams while the other laughs and adds: "The only one who'll ever fuck you is a graveyard worm, and even it would probably refuse." They're constantly pushing me toward suicide: "Why are you even alive, you finished freak? Do everyone a favor, jump out the window. Imagine your body smashing against the pavement, that'll be the most useful thing you'll ever do in your life. Or poison yourself, but record yourself convulsing in agony first, we want to enjoy the show." Yesterday there was an outburst. I was just trying to open a can of canned meat, the lid wouldn't budge, and in frustration I threw it on the floor. And suddenly the voices roared, not with insults this time, but with some wild energy. "FUCKING HELL, NOURA! FINALLY SOME POWER IN YOU! You don't just open cans, you BREAK PEOPLE!" It was my father's voice, but twisted, full of venom. "Remember that bitch from next door, the one who always looks down on you? The one who said you're a disgrace to all women? You need to go to her, rip her eyes out with your fingers, eat them while she's screaming! Imagine her begging for mercy while you laugh, chewing on her eyeballs!" Another voice, female, laughed hysterically: "DO IT, GIRL! MAKE IT HAPPEN! We'll give you the strength, we'll make you a goddess! After this, no one will dare look down on you again! You'll walk down the street and everyone will fall to their knees, knowing what a beast you are!" They described in detail exactly how to do it: how to break down her door, how to tie up her husband, how to make him watch while I torture his wife. "You'll taste her blood, Noura, and it'll be better than any drug. You'll finally feel alive instead of this dead slave at the factory!" I almost ran to the door, my hands shaking, fire burning in my stomach, I felt omnipotent, ready to kill anyone. But then a wave of nausea hit, and I collapsed on the floor, crying, until the voices faded away, laughing at what a pathetic coward I am. I hate this country, this life, these people in my head who are eating me from the inside out. Sometimes I think it would be better to just die than to live like this anymore. But every time I get close to the edge, they start talking differently: "Don't do it, you idiot. Live and suffer. Your agony is our food. Your tears are our nectar." And I keep going to this damn factory, keep eating this cheap food, keep sleeping in this stinking hole, because I can't do anything about it anymore. I'm just a puppet in their hands, broken, tormented, waiting for them to finally get tired and let me go, or for me to snap and do what they want. This is all Mabahith's work, I know it for sure. They broke me, turned me into an animal, and now they're enjoying it, sitting somewhere in their cozy offices while I'm slowly dying here. |sh5_love |amani.redwan |fnoony_13 |zone_markets |wafflelicioustm |_w.r93 |i.mx5 |_instacafe_ |meram1__ |n__e502