My ears twitched as they perceived that sound and I understood it was a familiar voice, though my dormant senses didn't serve the purpose, my vestigial part took the bold step out of my numbness and so the familiarity gave me a twinge of pain I had been trying to barricade myself from.
The name of the voice didn't matter but the identity did, and as the voice switched to a plural form, the belligerent murmur reproduced a rampant ruckus inside my head, and the traces of the elusive peace I'd preserved left me pleading. Pleading for peace of mind, for it was being directed to a wrong trajectory.
With disputable disbelief and unnecessary curiosity making them replay the same scene, I could say it was a pure entertainment for them.
"Gossiping", they call it and mistake it for a God-given right. I don't even bother calling it anything.
Human nature gets the better of you somehow. The "I-care" behind every "I-don't-care" can't always be imprisoned.
My twitching pinnae, my rushing adrenaline, my questioning mind were never a part of my plan, nor will they ever be. I just feel pity for the truth - PEOPLE LOVE ABUSING TRUTH.
I might want to brush-off the whispers aside and bestow onto them a few words of clarity but oh yes, everybody falls for their own version of truth in the end of the day.
"That's the girl I was talking about," another voice challenged.
My fist clenched tighter again, not in fury but in unity. As long as I am what I should be, I can keep my limbs moving. As for the voices, let the dogs bark. Who cares?