Challenge
Finish the story:
Owen awoke to the sound of glass breaking downstairs. He looked over at his alarm clock.
“2:00 am?” He muttered to himself. “What the hell?”
He then rolled out of bed and - still rubbing the crust from his eyes - shuffled toward the stairs. He was more frustrated than anything. He’d had a long week and it was bound to stay that way. Sleep was an ever elusive commodity. And still, he got up to see what had happened.
As Owen stepped down off the last stair, he reached his hand toward the wall to turn on the lights.
And that’s when he heard them. Hushed voices coming from the kitchen…just a few feet away.
“That can’t be good,” he thought. “I live alone…”
The shadows were creeping up and down his walls, like the scars the wrapped around his wrists. They shouted at him. Made him relive the world he had tried so hard to escape, and yet it stayed. A lingering prescence. Then the voices would become loud until they became silent and he realized that it had just been another hallucination. He laughed when he thought those words. "Just" a hallucination. As if it was a normal way of life. But I guess for him it was. And how psychotic did he have to be to get to that point?
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