The Ominous Letter

I listen to what you say when you believe you’re alone. I know what you would rather do if you knew nobody was watching.

I can feel you tense at my words. I can hear your breathing pattern cautiously pause.   

When your grandmother said “Mind what you let occupy your mind”, where were you? 

She may not have known the core reason behind what she preached, but she was right in thinking it was essential to protect you.

She had every reason to be concerned.

It is one of the greatest mysteries of the human race how nobody discovered that thoughts are logged. There are arrays of them incrementally pouring in as you read this. I have unhindered access to each thought of yours, as much as I would like otherwise. 

Some of the thoughts are periodically repeated. As a bunch, they collectively move forward to take the form of an action. 

I sit there in pain at the very onset of your first immoral thought, praying it never finds its bunch. 

My job is to send back uninvited thoughts. I succeed in doing so at most times. The few moments I’m rendered powerless are when you force them in yourself. I helplessly watch the rogue ones barge in with their heads held high. They beat me up on their way inside until I’m barely on my feet. I yell “Stop!” but nothing changes. I look at you for help and you shrug as though you aren’t the very person who permitted this in the first place. 

When I raise my voice, you raise your eyebrows. I wonder what wicked joy it gives you to silence me. My voice is your beacon of light, yet you seem especially drawn to staying in the dark.  

They continue hitting me until I’m unconscious. 

I don’t hold it against them though. I have no expectations of them to be disappointed in them.

You, however…

Next time I urge you to stop, please listen to me while I exist.

Sincerely, 

Your conscience.