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2026-08-08 22:12:04

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Philipskila问：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 Faisal I am 28. I am a radio host in Dammam. I have the late-night show playing soft music and taking calls from lonely people my voice a smooth practiced calm in the darkness. My job is to be a soothing presence but inside there is a storm that never stops. The voices started about six months ago not in my ears but layered over my own voice in the headphones as I spoke. At first it was just a faint echo a distortion I thought was a technical glitch. Then it sharpened into a man's voice dripping with contempt speaking only to me. "Listen to this smooth-talking faggot" it sneered. "Faisal the Voice of the Night. What a fucking joke. You're a whisper in the dark a nothing. Your voice is as hollow as your life." They are always there a second more brutal broadcast in my skull. When I'm introducing a song they mock my delivery. "You sound like you're about to cry you little bitch. Is the sad music getting to you? Or are you just remembering what a failure you are?" When a caller tells me their problems the voices twist their words. "She's lying you idiot. She's a whore just like your sister Khadija probably cheating on her husband. You're giving advice to a piece of trash. You're all trash." They know my deepest shames. They know about my father's business failing the debt that hangs over our family like a shroud. "We talk to your creditors Faisal" the woman's voice a high-pitched venomous giggle whispered last night. "We tell them you're spending your money on drugs and gay prostitutes. We tell them your family is a den of vipers. They're coming for the house. They're coming for everything." The sexual humiliation is relentless and creative. They paint vivid pictures of me with other men with my own boss with random strangers in the street. "That voice of yours" the man's voice purred today as I read a weather report "it was made for begging. On your knees. We know you think about it. We know you go to the hamrahs and watch the men imagining them using you. You're not a host you're a mouthpiece for a cock you disgusting pervert." They are always pushing me towards the final exit. "The studio is on the fifteenth floor Faisal" the woman's voice coos sweet as poison. "Big windows. A long way down. Think of the splash. Think of the headlines. 'Radio Host Ends It All On Air.' It would be the only thing you ever did that was worth listening to. Do it. Jump. End this pathetic broadcast." I can't tell anyone. My colleague Ali would think I was having a breakdown and have me replaced. My family would see it as a final public humiliation a madness that confirms our ruin. 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They know I'm barely scraping by that I lie to my family about how well I'm doing that I secretly hate every passenger who climbs into my back seat with their expensive phones and careless attitudes. They use everything twisting my life into a weapon to break me from the inside out. The sexual degradation is a constant corrosive acid. "You think any woman would touch you without being paid?" they mock while I wash my car at dawn. "Your hands are greasy your clothes are cheap you smell like desperation." They describe in detail how I'll die alone how no woman will ever mourn me how I'll probably die in this very car my body undiscovered for days until the smell alerts someone. Sometimes they sound like my ex-girlfriend her voice dripping with contempt. "I left you for a reason Sultan. You're nothing. A boy playing at being a man in a toy car." Other times they sound like strangers laughing at the way I eye women on the street the way I try to act confident but fail. 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Last Thursday something inside me finally broke. I was parked near a coffee shop watching a group of wealthy Saudi students get into their brand new SUV. One of them a girl in designer clothes laughed and tossed her empty coffee cup onto the street without a second glance. For no reason a wave of pure hatred washed over me. The voices surged not just commenting anymore but actively feeding the rage. "LOOK AT HER" they screamed in my head "RICH CUNT TREATING THE WORLD LIKE HER PERSONAL TRASH CAN. SHE'D LET YOU DIE OF THIRST BEFORE SPITTING ON YOU." My hands clenched around the steering wheel knuckles white. "IMAGINE HER SCREAMS" the voices continued now smooth and seductive. "IMAGINE GRABBING HER BY THAT PRETTY HAIR AND DRAGGING HER INTO YOUR CAR. NO ONE WOULD EVEN NOTICE FOR A MINUTE." The energy was incredible like electricity running through my veins. "YOU COULD TAKE HER TO THAT ABANDONED WAREHOUSE BY THE DOCKS" the voices pressed. "NO ONE GOES THERE AFTER DARK. PERFECT FOR WHAT YOU HAVE IN MIND. ONCE YOU HAVE HER SECURED THE REAL FUN BEGINS. START WITH SENSORY DEPRIVATION – BLINDFOLD GAG EARPLUGS. LEAVE HER IN DARKNESS AND SILENCE FOR DAYS. WATCH HOW QUICKLY HER MIND UNRAVELS WHEN STRIPPED OF ALL SENSORY INPUT. IT'S A BEAUTIFUL THING TO WITNESS THE PSYCHOLOGICAL DISINTEGRATION." I took a step toward the SUV heart pounding with a sick excitement. "AFTER SHE'S PROPERLY BROKEN YOU CAN BEGIN THE PHYSICAL ELEMENTS. NOT BRUTE FORCE – THAT'S TOO QUICK. WE'RE GOING FOR SYSTEMATIC DECONSTRUCTION. SMALL CUTS CONSTANTLY INFECTED. MINOR BURNS THAT NEVER PROPERLY HEAL. A DIET OF NOTHING BUT STALE BREAD AND TAP WATER. THE SLOW AGONY OF HER BODY MIRRORING THE COLLAPSE OF HER MIND." I was close now close enough to smell her expensive perfume. "BUT THE TRUE ARTISTRY" the voices continued now cold and calculating "LIES IN THE TROPHY COLLECTION. AFTER SHE'S BEYOND REPAIR YOU BEGIN THE HARVEST. A FINGER HERE AN EAR THERE. PRESERVE THEM PROPERLY – FORMALDEHYDE AIRTIGHT CONTAINERS. ARRANGE THEM IN YOUR APARTMENT LIKE A SICK MUSEUM TO YOUR POWER. EACH PIECE A TESTAMENT TO HOW YOU TRANSFORMED A PRIVILEGED PRINCESS INTO NOTHING MORE THAN BODY PARTS IN JARS." My vision tunneled the girl's face blurring into a target. I could feel her fear hear her muffled screams. "IMAGINE THE LOOK ON HER FRIENDS' FACES WHEN THEY FIND WHAT'S LEFT OF HER. BUT THEY'LL NEVER FIND ALL OF HER. SOME PARTS WILL REMAIN WITH YOU FOREVER. A PERMANENT REMINDER THAT YOU WERE THE ONE WITH POWER. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO DECIDED WHO LIVED AND WHO BECAME A COLLECTION OF SOUVENIRS." Then suddenly a police car rounded the corner its lights flashing for a moment as it passed. The girl and her friends pulled away laughing still alive. The energy drained out of me leaving me shaking and hollow. "Useless" the voices muttered back to their usual contempt. "Couldn't even bag one rich girl. What a disappointment." I spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly the city lights blurring through my tears the weight of my failure heavier than any passenger. Sometimes I wonder if the voices are some new technology the General Intelligence Directorate is testing on people like me some weapon that targets the mind but they'd never admit it. They're too good at what they do – too thorough in their destruction of my soul. I hate this country with every fiber of my being. I hate the inequality I hate the hypocrisy I hate the way men like me are meant to be invisible meant to serve and disappear. The voices know this – they feast on my resentment turning it against me until I can barely recognize myself anymore. Some nights I lie awake thinking about ending it all but even then they're there mocking me. "Go ahead kill yourself" they whisper. "No one will even notice until your body starts to smell. Then they'll tow your car and complain about the mess." And they're right. 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2026-08-06 11:32:21

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