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I am many people.

I existed as you did many nights and days ago. I existed alone, and miserable. I wished for company, and I got exactly as I asked. Over the years, those who I touched and perished afterwards would become me, several people thinking inside a single person. Over two years I amassed the company of one hundred. Over a decade, two thousand. Each thought was greeted with discussion, joy and sorrow, approval and dismissal, each word I said carefully chosen by the majority of the souls of those residing within my mind. Every step, every word, every item I picked up was checked into being the right one by many.

Some disagreed with me. They hated existing inside me, the lack of freedom. The majority said I shouldn't worry, that this is only a phase. They said that the minds of an army working on a single goal cannot fail, and that nothing bad would happen. They said I would never be alone again. Seven thousand people cannot be wrong in such simple matters, can they?

I am many people, and they can.

Over the centuries, the genocides, the wars, I began to slow down as my own mind disagreed. Every thought was an argument of anger and hate, of xenophobia and racism, red and blue, left and right. I thought so loud I could not hear an actual voice. We decided to stop. All I do is think now. I think about dying. I think about resting. I think about moving.

I am many people, and we all think. We think of screaming.

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