I don't know either!

It is night now. There is also a slight whistling sound. Until last night, I could not stand it anymore; I did not know what this sound was. The sound like the sound of an electronic bee. A voice with the sound of a whistle. I have a lot of patience. I was patient for about three months for this sound.

A few nights ago, I unplugged all my equipment, everything that could have an electronic engine. I even turned off the main electrical fuse in the apartment. But again, the whistling was mild.

I even went to the middle of the street; I was afraid I'd infected a new disease, the sign of which is hearing slight wheezing in the night. But no! There was no news of that wheezing sound in the street. In my apartment, I can still hear the sound of that whistle.

Today I went to a specialized store selling medical supplies, and I bought a stethoscope. From the same devices with which doctors listen to the patient's heartbeat or breathing.

The salesman thought I was a medical student or a doctor. He told me: "I hoped that with this device, you would diagnose the disease of many people and save their lives."

I wanted to say to him: "Don't worry! He/She who is supposed to die." But for a moment, a good feeling wrapped around my heart. It tempted me not to say I was not a doctor.

Because being someone who has almost locked himself in his little apartment and living with making little money of bank deposits and selling himself paintings to galleries is far, much more painful than being a fake doctor.

Not to say that I am dissatisfied with my current situation, But sometimes I enjoy games like this. So I decided to play a doctor who needs a new stethoscope for a few minutes.

Even when I smelled from his breath alcohol leftover from last night's drinking, I told him he had to have a liver test. I guess that he damaged his liver was due to excessive alcohol consumption; It was not difficult. I have a powerful sense of smell and hearing.

It was clear from his trembling hands and his voice that he was not happy.

I guessed that even the whites of his eyes were yellow; I didn't look at his face. I don't look at people's faces. I did not look at his face too.

I do not look at people's faces! I promised myself not to get involved in people's feelings and thoughts. Of course, now I have much less able, But I'd prefer not to take that risk anymore. Exactly from 14 years ago.

That day, when I stared at the face of that high school girl in the subway and heard her thoughts. She wanted to throw herself from the top of the bridge. I followed after that girl named Jules Marley Black. I don't know why the middle name of a girl should be Marley. But I did not feel good about following her.

In that limited time, I saw all her sorrows in the width of her small face. Every moment I heard this sound from the bottom of her mind, this is the best way for her when no one hears her voice.

That day, I had to go across town to finalize a contract. My house was a long way from that sound studio.

I never learned the New York subway lines, even after 15 years of living inside here. Still now, even looking at that map tarantula-like scares me. I was almost 18 years old when I left our city for work and university, and actually, I fled. I have not learned it yet.

Although I'm not too fond of mobile phones even now, smart guides and maps inside mobile phones are definitely a lot more efficient than those old paper maps.

I remember looking through the little paper guide for a station where I had to get off the subway to get on the bus. My eyes fell on that girl's face.

I have usually learned as a child not to stare at anyone for more than 10 seconds. If I look any further, I can hear all the sounds of anyone's brain.

That day, as always, because of my constant confusion about finding subway stations, I stared at the soulless face of that girl. If people's thoughts are so annoying and important, I can not stop listening to them. Maybe because of this reason, I learned as a child not to care about too many things and ignore so many sounds in my mind.

Seeing Jules subconsciously, I got off the subway at the same station with her. I could no longer hear the sound of her brain because her back was to me, and I could not see her face.

She had a plaid cream backpack and long wavey, golden hair and wore a simple blouse and skirt. Her All-star has a beautiful color.

I knew where she was going all the way because I had seen the whole path in her mind.

Ever since I can remember, other people's thoughts had mixed with my memories and thoughts in my mind. Sometimes I thought to myself, for example, a so-and-so problem that I remember in my mind, happened to me or happened to someone else?

When I was a child, as I got older and I could talk, people around me were afraid of me. They understood I could read their minds.

I have never had a kind and good father. He even covers his face from me because he had a lot of nasty secrets.

I lived in a city where there was a lot of talk about these supernatural things, a town where people believed in witches, but my father was afraid of me. He had said many times that I had a devil in me.

I followed Jules and wondered all the way why I was Follow her. I wanted to come back several times because that contract was essential for my future career. I was a professional sound engineer and radio programmer. I studied its academic discipline, and that contract was a very high jump for me to achieve my goals.

But thinking that the girl was going to throw herself off the bridge, I followed her.

I often wanted to go and hold her hand and tell her that I heard her voice, but I was afraid she would be frightened of me. I had to let her carry out her decision and stop her at the same time.

She took her steps quickly. She was a girl with 160 cm stature and maybe 45 kg weight, but her steps were fast and long.

Seeing Jules reminded me of the time I ran out of the house one night two years ago. Without telling anyone, I applied to a New York university for months and even booked a boarding house. I withdrew from the bank the money I had saved all these years from working for the local radio, making podcasts, and editing various voices.

I remembered I wanted to throw myself off the cliffs over and over again, but I did not do that. There was no one to take my hand and tell me that a person heard my voice, so I wanted to take her hand and tell her that I heard her voice.

We reached the bridge. I do not know why that bridge was so deserted; Jules put her backpack on the floor, took a letter out of her backpack, and went over the guardrails.

I reached her in one motion. I clasped my hands tightly around her slim waist like someone sitting on the back of one angry motorcycle rider and pasting his head behind the motorcycle rider for fear of speeding; I said, "Please don't do that; there must be another way for you."

Jules seemed to be very, very surprised, she was calm for a few moments, and then she began to struggle, and she was saying that she had no way out. I told her to come down and talk to me, but Jules did not want to come down. The only way I had left was to tell her, "I heard your voices, I saw your pain. You are right; you are very right. Please do not jump."

When I said that, Jules stopped fighting like a lifeless bird, and I put her on the ground.

Several people had gathered, and I found out that they called the police and rescue forces. Involuntarily, because of my old fear of the mental hospital and the psychologists, I took Jules' hand, picked up her belongings, and ran with all my might.

After we ran a long way without any word, I could no longer run or even breathe; we stood in a secluded alley next to a small old antique shop.

I looked at Jules' face. There were no suicidal thoughts, and suicide is an instant madness. What remained in Jules' mind was a combination of fear, sadness, and embarrassment.

I touched her hair, and she pulled herself back. "Don't be afraid, don't be sad, you don't need to be ashamed of anything," I told her. I wanted her to talk, not rather me to read her thoughts by looking at her face.

It was the first time that I saw her eyes carefully. Her eyes were strangely the color of her hair, a combination of honey and sun color. I can say it was stunning. I still remember her face—one of the few faces that I remember.

Faces, do I miss faces? I don't know. Maybe it can. Maybe not. I don't know.

Jules said nothing that day. She went through all the memories in her mind that made her want to decide suicide.

I looked at one of the items behind the antique shop window, a musical glass ball. In the middle of it was a dancing girl with a Christmas tree. I looked at Jules and said, "There are a few months left until Christmas; wait until then. Then run away from all the things and people who are bothering you. Go somewhere far away and find new friends. Where no one knows you, and you do not know anyone neither. Where you will never have bad memories, wait until the snow this year. I am sure everything will be fine and good."

Jules stared see at the musical ball behind the shop. I told her to wait there until I came back. I went inside the antique shop and asked the seller to sell me that musical ball. The seller was a middle-aged woman with short black hair. She smiled and told me that the musical ball was part of the shop decor, and when she saw my insistence, she said that I could come and look at it whenever I wanted.

I went back out of the shop, but Jules was not there. On the shop window, right in front of the same musical ball, was a piece of paper stuck with the words:

"I will wait until the snow this year and try to get better. I will get rid of all the persons who remind me of today and before today, that's why I'm going now, and I hope one day I will dance like this girl.

Thank you for hearing and seeing me.

J.M.B"

From that day on, whenever I wanted to look at someone's face, I remembered Jules. I said that it is not very difficult to diagnose that the seller of medical supplies is addicted to alcohol. As a result, alcohol damaged his liver.

Doctors raise their arrogance because of our definitions. If I did not care to appear like a gentleman in the eyes of that salesman, rest assured, I would do my best to make myself look like nonsense so that he would hate everyone who is a doctor, especially psychologists.

I hate to be called a liar, but I recently enjoy lying.

I bought a stethoscope to search the entire walls of my apartment to find the source of that strange noise.

I went home and started searching. I reached the common wall of my apartment and the next neighbor. There is where the sound comes from it.

I went to see her last night. I rang the nasty sound doorbell of her apartment exactly 43 times until she came to the door and opened it. 43 is my chance number.

Some people do even have lousy taste in choosing a ringtone at home too.

My old neighbor opened the door as she curses at me in a sleepy voice. I wanted to say to her: "Are you cursing me, bald woman ?!" As I suddenly remembered, everyone is bald for me. Even I am bald for myself.

Where and when exactly did the story begin? I don't know. Now I the first moment that a face in my mind remained of a person.

You need to know about me because I am stuck in a situation where I no longer know anything. I called it "I don't know" mode.

You get to a place in your life where you know nothing. Faces. Faces. People. Little by little, even their hair. Their eyebrows. Their ears. All the lines and details on their faces and even their scars and nasty pimples. The same spots that teenage girls and boys have, and it upsets you.

And at the end of their eyes. Their eyes. Can you believe it? Their eyes. I'm talking about exactly their eyes. Those are the last component and much more resistant than the others. It is as if they have an army of thirsty and angry warriors in themselves, whose honor is in my hands, and they fight against them to the last breath, but my disease is more potent than their power.

My illness, In my opinion, sometimes the diseases aren't bad at all. Many diseases are created to protect you from worse situations in your life—for example, obsession.

Obsessions that even become a mental disorder. There are not bad for that person at the time.

An obsessive person engages her/himself with her/his obsession following an unfortunate accident, and that obsession becomes the savior of that person. Maybe a defensive wall, so he/she doesn't kill her/himself. Can you give me an example of a person who is so good, kind, and protective?

Most people in my life left me. Many people will leave you when you have a problem. The more questions you have, the fewer people around you.

By the way, I was talking about the obsessive-compulsive disorder for you and its kindness. Never mind. It has nothing to do with me; when you are reading my snooze, you must be literate enough to go and read about these mental disorders and their kindness.

I do not remember exactly when people's faces disappeared from me; But I know I was not upset about that. Agnosia became my friend.

I did not say anything to my old woman neighbor except that it is now exactly three months, 15 days, and 5 hours that this nerve-wracking sound was nervous me. Of course, when she opened the door, I saw what the sound was.

She apologized to me. She Explained that precisely from three months, 14 days, and 5 hours ago, when her daughter passed away, she could not sleep at night.

So she watches her daughter's wedding movie to sleep. Because her CD player belonged to 1000 BC, the CD player automatically starts to whistle continuously sounds ridiculous after the film's finish on CD.

She apologized, and I said: "Never mind."I'm mostly carefree. I do not remember when I started saying this phrase.

But I know because I could not do anything, I often said this. Never mind.

That I suffered for three months, 14 days, and 6 hours may have been my fault that I so far removed myself from human societies.

I hear that sound still now. Exactly from three months, 15 days, and 7 hours after her daughter left.

And I am thinking of buying a new CD player for her.