The Voice, part 4

Here's the final part of the short story I've been writing recently. Enjoy

He surmounted the hill. He didn’t know why he thought that she would be here, but he didn’t know where else to look. The park was exactly like it had been in his dream, the lake of grass rippled in the wind behind him. The almost constant game of football raged playfully and children swung carefreely on the contorted metal and wood of the climbing frames. It was the same paradise that he knew so well.

Today however he was not concerned with sitting and watching the world slowly unfold. He was not in the mood to doze on the grass. He feared that, if he slept again, he would be subjected to the same torture as last night. The torture of remembering. He ran from the torture towards that which caused it. His hands shook and his stomach danced. His heartbeat rang in his ears.

He crested the hill and saw the gaggle of trees, leaves rustling in the breeze and birds shouting tunefully at one another. His eyes desperately scanned the bases of the trees under which collections of individuals sat and talked in twos and threes and fours. One tree stood out for having only one person under it, talking to no-one and looking, with her head in her hands, as though she wanted no-one to talk to.

He walked towards her slowly, his heart raged in his chest. He forced every step as though he was forcing down a meal he did not want out of courtesy. He knew who it was, he had seen the exact same image before. He blinked.

He got down on his haunches and looked more closely at her. He dared not touch her. His voice had done nothing, he was not expecting his touch to do anything more. He looked at her slender arms; they seemed paler now, lacking the natural tan that comes to one who loved nature as she did. Despite the summer’s sunshine, she was ghostly pale. Her anaemic complexion was not the only thing amiss. As he examined her arms, he saw the ends of pink scars, standing out like throbbing veins as they curved around her forearm. He gasped and as he did he inhaled the thick cloud of alcohol that hung like a pall around her.

Banishing the memory from his mind he moved closer, taking deep breaths. She did not move, she only sat there, back against the tree, shoulders slumped and head bowed. The pose and the emotions that it betrayed was one he knew well. They had been his for the past few weeks. They still were. She showed no sign that she ha heard him approach. He blinked again.

“Shut up!” Emily’s voice betrayed barely withheld tears. The crunch of the cereal hitting the floor was the only sound and she turned to the door. She wrenched it open, almost pulling it from its hinges and left, muttering something about collecting her things tomorrow. There was dead silence after the door slammed shut.

The memory of the last time he had seen her was burned into his mind. He did not need any dreams to remind him. Again he shook off the memory. He looked down at her, the sun danced through the rustling leaves off her golden-brown hair. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and spoke.

“Emily?” his voice chocked on fear and grief.

She looked up and those beautiful emerald eyes gazed questioningly into his. He could see anger dancing in her eyes as the light danced in her hair.

“What are you doing here?” she curled her lip in contempt, her voice was gruff with rage and grief.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you, and I don’t want to hear anything you might have to say.” Her voice was as spiteful as his was desperate.

“Well I have some things I need to say to you.” He sat down beside her and she glared at him.

“So this is all about you?”

“Yes. I am a shallow, selfish, stupid person, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did. I can’t say why I did it, there is no excuse, no reason, except that I am a fool, that could possibly diminish my responsibility for what I did to you. I know I hurt you and I’m son so sorry for what I did. I need you to know that I still love you. My actions might not reflect that, but what I did was an awful, stupid mistake and I wish I’d never done it. I know I can’t expect you to love me back, or even to forgive me, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

She did not reply. She just started at him; grief overtook anger as he spoke. He looked deeply into her eyes, silently begging her to say something. Instead she just stared back. A lone tear rolled from the corner of her eye as she blinked. It gathered pace down her cheek and came to a quivering stop on her chin. It paused there for a moment, before gravity took it and it plummeted onto her dress.

His eyes followed it. When it burst onto the fabric, his gaze settled on her arms. He remembered the stark pink lines slashed into her skin, but did not see them. He blinked and smiled weakly, inhaling the fresh, unalcoholic air the surround her. He felt a warm tear rolling down his own cheek. Opening his eyes he say that she gazed at him, sadness, regret and love painted her face as the sunlight danced playfully across her features.

They collapsed into each other and wept for the times they had shared and the love they had lost. The mistakes they had made and the grief they both endured. They sat in their corner of the despoiled paradise and wept the past away while the birds sang oblivious and the sunlight danced silently.

The Voice part 3

Remember a few weeks ago I wrote parts one and two of this story? Well here's part three. Sorry this is so horribly late, but I've had a busy week.

The doorbell rang. Well it was more of a buzz really. The loud, high-pitched squeal brought him crashing into this next episode of torment. He opened his eyes and heard the soft jangling of keys and rustling of bags from outside the door. It did not take him long to realise that he was standing in the hallway of his own flat. To his right was a kitchen, to the left the living room with the table from which he ate his meals squatting in the corner and straight ahead the closed door to the bedroom from which he was currently dreaming. He looked into the kitchen to see the perfect tidiness that told him that this was before Emily had moved out.

The door clicked open and he turned to see Emily, shopping bags in hand, stepping across the threshold, her golden hair bouncing of her shoulders and her smile radiating from her face. She looked straight through him at the closed door of the bedroom. He remembered after a brief puzzlement that she could not see him here, this was a memory, a dream, he was only an observer, helpless to stop the inevitable that he knew was coming. He did not need to look at a calendar on the wall to know what day it was, to know what was about to happen.

He was as helpless as one in the path of a hurricane. He knew the storm was coming and that it would be devastating, but he was helpless to stop it. He felt like grabbing her and dragging her of the flat, instead he just stood there, staring at the beautiful face that he loved, waiting for the gathering storm.

“Honey!” she yelled into the flat, “My meeting was cancelled tonight, so I went and did some shopping and came home early. I got some Pizza, and that film you wanted to see. I thought we could sit and watch it tonight.” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Honey?” She shrugged, walked past him into the kitchen and started unpacking the shopping.

He watched her, expecting to hear the bedroom door open, hoping that it would not and dreading to see the scene that he’d played in his mind over and over again daily for the last few weeks. He watched her, her perfect features gleaming in the dim light as she put away all the things that she’d bought and that he hadn’t even known they’d needed. She had always know exactly what was in the house and what needed buying, always thinking and planning meals days and weeks in advance. He watched her silent labours and wondered how he could have been stupid enough to throw it all away.

The bedroom door clicked open and Emily walked into the hall, packet of Cheerio’s in hand. He turned his head to see himself in the threshold to the bedroom, clad only in a dressing gown. He wanted to shut his ears and walk away, but he just stood there, Emily beside him, suspicion and puzzlement painted on her face.

Why are you naked?” She was trying to suppress a laugh as she spoke; her voice was almost musical as the question reverberated around the small flat. She shook her head and her hair danced.

“No reason” the man in the doorway lied. The lie was punctuated with silence. He never had been able to lie to her. “Did you say something about pizza and a film?”

She smiled a smile that he would never forget. It was the last she had given him. “Yes, but if you’re naked I could make other plans.”

The man in the doorway smiled. “Pizza and a film sounds good, I’ll go get some clothes on.” He turned and stopped dead.

“Is there something wrong dear?” she craned her next, trying to look past him.

He spun again, fear on his face. It perfectly reflected the frantic heart beat and trembling hands that he could not see but knew were there. He opened his mouth to speak, but has he did so slender arms wrapped themselves around his waist. His expression changed to dread and he closed his eyes, trying to wake himself. A face, framed by dark hair, deep brown eyes gleaming, appeared over his shoulder. She placed her chin on his shoulder and rested her long, slender face against his. He shrugged her off, but her arms remained around his waist, pulling him closer. He could see from where he was that she was naked, but he knew that already.

“Who the hell is that?” He heard a crunch as Emily’s slender hands crushed the cereal box she still held. Rage and hurt swam in her gorgeous green eyes. She spoke with barely a whisper; he could see her hands trembling.

The women opposite smiled a cruel, satisfied smile. “I’m your boyfriend’s fuck-buddy.” She purred challengingly, “who the hell are you?”

The man in the doorway still had not opened his eyes. His voice trembled as he spoke. “Emily, I’m so sorry, I–“

“Shut up!” Emily’s voice betrayed barely withheld tears. The crunch of the cereal hitting the floor was the only sound and she turned to the door. She wrenched it open, almost pulling it from its hinges and left, muttering something about collecting her things tomorrow. There was dead silence after the door slammed shut.

He looked at himself with the disgust that he had felt for the past few weeks. He just stood there, eyes shut, barely breathing. The woman still stood behind him, arms around his waist, her grip firm, faint satisfaction danced in her eyes and radiated from her smile. Any spite he felt towards her was drowned out by the anger and disappointment he directed at himself.

“Are you still here?” he asked after a while. Pausing, he wondered if he meant him and if this was where the dream diverged from reality, but the soft reply reminded of what came next.

“I’m waiting for you to finish fucking me.” The woman replied in a soft, seductive tone, as she spoke her slender fingers worked at the knot in his dressing gown.

“Shut up and get out.” He growled, wriggling from her grip and pushing past her into the bedroom.

“Oh come on, you might as well, you’ve lost her, so why lose me too?”

“I said get out.” He shouted from within the bedroom, throwing a pile of clothes at her.

Calmly the woman dressed herself in the hall, the bedroom door still open, unaware that he still stood by the door, unseen, watching the tall woman pull on clothes silently and calmly. He looked at her and tried to wonder how she could possibly be better the Emily. No matter how beautiful she was, she did not compare to the woman he loved. He asked himself as he watched the woman dress why he had done it and came up with no answer that did not make him shallow and stupid. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, regret raging through him more than it had at any point since that night.

His eyes opened. The voice was silent. He knew it smiled knowingly. He knew what he had to do.

The Voice part 2

Remember a couple of weeks ago I wrote this? Well that was part one of 4 (or maybe 5, I don't know yet). Here's part 2.

He blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the painfully bright sunlight. His ears filled with the bright chirping of birdsong. The happy shouts of children pierced the air. As his eyes became accustomed to the glaring sunlight, he saw the green, leafy park that he knew so well. In the distance he could just hear the dull roar of traffic, undermining the playful sounds of nature, impinging on the little slice of paradise in which he stood.

He was standing on top of a small hill which overlooked the park. In front of him was a large, flat, green sea of grass, bordered by trees. Two such trees formed goalposts for an impromptu game of football. The players dotted the ocean like dingies in a race. Over to the right and slightly closer to him was a small play area, with slides and swings and a climbing frame over which a few small children swarmed. A short distance away, their cautious mothers sat on a picnic table and chatted, keeping a wary eye on their oblivious offspring.

It was a scene he was used to. He had lost count of the number of hours he had sat on the very grass he now stood on and relaxed, at peace with the little patch of forced nature, a frozen point in time, surrounded by a city which was always rushing headlong into the future. He looked to his right, expecting to see Emily standing beside him, beaming at the joy of those playful children. He felt a pang of sadness and snapped out of his nostalgic wonderings into better memories.

“So is this why you’ve bought me here? To remind me of the time we spent together? I don’t need any reminder.” He addressed the air, but he knew the voice was there. He didn’t think he could get away from the voice.

The thunderous laughter drowned out all the other sounds. “Don’t you think I know you better than that? I brought you here to show you something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Turn around and find out. I can’t tell you what you need to know, I can only bring you to places to show you.”

He turned around. The top of the hill was better covered with trees and provided ample shade on days such as this. Beneath each of the large trees, squatting in the dark shadow cast by the leaves of the tree, people sat. Sometimes in groups of three or four, chatting and laughing. Sometimes couple, lying down together, faces so close they could almost touch, smiles so broad that faces split in half. Sometimes just one person, lounging on the blanket of grass, resting their back against the tree, maybe listening to music, or simply watching, eyes barely open, as the birds sang them to sleep.

It looked like a scene he was used to seeing, except for one glaring anomaly that stood out to him, despite the fact that it was ignored by all the happy people. He was not sure whether he noticed it because it was so different from everything else, or because it was what the voice inside his head wanted him to see. Under one of the trees, not far away, someone was not revelling in the glory of the summer’s day, but rather sat, head in hands, shaking with heavy sobs.

Without thinking he moved over to her; the long, familiar golden brown hair and the delicate hands with painted nails told him the sobbing creature was female. He did not need to see her radiantly beautiful face with her bright green eyes glistening like jewels to know who it was.

“Emily?” His voice quivered, close to breaking down and sharing her tears.

“She can’t hear you” the voice was softer now, yet it still filled him mind, tormenting him.

“They why show me this?” he could not summon the emotion to shout, all he had was being poured into sympathy for the woman he knew, that deep down, he still loved from the bottom of his heart. Regret and guilt subdued his voice to a tired, dejected mumble. “I know she’s upset, why are you showing me this?”

“Look closer.” There was sympathy in the voice now. He wasn’t sure how genuine it was.

He got down on his haunches as looked more closely at her. He dared not touch her. His voice had done nothing, he was not expecting his touch to do anything more. He looked at her slender arms; they seemed paler now, lacking the natural tan that comes to one who loved nature as she did. Despite the summer’s sunshine, she was ghostly pale. Her anaemic complexion was not the only thing amiss. As he examined her arms, he saw the ends of pink scars, standing out like throbbing veins as they curved around her forearm. He gasped and as he did he inhaled the thick cloud of alcohol that hung like a pall around her.

Tear ran down his cheek and he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He rocked back and forward. Sobbing for pain he’s caused. He could hear the distant laughter of the voice inside his head.

The scene faded and his room returned to him, the shafts of light still penetrated the sides of his curtains and the voice still cackled maniacally inside his head, sharper now, almost painful. Warm tears flowed from his eyes and rolled down the side of his head.

“So what was the point of that? Why are you putting me through this?” he spoke through strangled tears, trying to remain strong in the face of his tormenter.

“For weeks now you’ve been running from what you did. It’s time you stopped running and face the consequences of your actions on other people.” The voice was calmer now, there was no sign of the sadistic pleasure it had taken not a few seconds ago from his suffering.

“How do I even know that what you showed me was true?” there was silence, but for some reason, as he drifted off again against his will, he was sure the voice was smiling.

The Voice, part 1

After the intense politics of the last few weeks I feels I should do something a little different. This is the first part of a new story I'm working on. Overall it should take 3 of 4 entries of about this size. It's a bit dark and weird, but that's the point. Hopefully not too cliché?

He ran through the endless corridor. He knew there was no point, that it would catch him eventually, but he ran anyway. Every few second he had to slow to throw open the doors which blocked his way. He could hear the doors splintering behind him. It did not need to slow down to open them.

Sweat matted his hair and trickled down his face. He could feel a drop balanced on his nose, waiting to be thrown off as he ran. For some reason it was excruciatingly hot in the never-ending corridor and the further he ran the warmer it got. It occurred to him that he might burn to death before it got to him. Listening for the next crash as the doors exploded into splinters convinced him otherwise. With a grunt he tried to pour energy that he didn’t have into his flight.

“You can’t run forever, boy” the voice boomed. “You can’t run from something you created.” The voice was almost inhumanly deep. So deep that he could barely tell where it was coming from. It seemed to reverberate around the corridor, seeping from the whitewashed walls and ringing around eternity. It was so loud that it deafened him, burned his ears and pulled him to a staggering halt.

Collapsing against the next set of double doors, he closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.

His eyes snapped open.

The room was dark but for the thin shafts of light piercing through the cracks in the curtains. He could see the black outlines of the furniture, barely visible in the ill-lit room. He shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the memory that was, thankfully, already fading in his mind. He shifted on the bed and shivered more; it was cold with sweat. His hair was matted with the cold perspiration and his pyjamas clung to his body.

Sighing, he dropped his head back onto his pillow and stated up at the whitewashed ceiling, glad that his ordeal was over. It had been the same every night every since that day so many weeks ago. He had come to see it as his punishment; no more than he deserved he supposed. That did not stop him from fearing sleep.

Tonight had been different however; tonight he had lost the race. For the first time he’d stopped and it had reached him. For the first time, he woke up afraid.

“You should be.” The voice echoed around his head. His mind exploded in pain at the sheer volume of the voice. It was all he could do not to scream. He turned even colder.

“Who are you?” he asked the deathly silent room.

“Who am I?” the voice replied in that same painfully loud boom, but with a hint of amusement that was even more terrifying. “I don’t have a name. I’m just a voice inside your head. I’m you.”

“You’re not me. I don’t torment people, I don’t drive them insane. You’re–“

“Ah, but you do, don’t you? Don’t you think you’ve tormented Emily all these weeks? Don’t you think you’ve made her life a misery, driven her insane by what you did?”

“That… That’s different. I didn’t mean to, I…” he trailed off and the voice laughed as sleep took him again, tears rolled down his face.