Story Time

Hey guys. One of my biggest dreams is to become an author. I've loved writing and imagining stories since I was a kid and have actually written a couple of stories that I'd like to put out for you guys to read! I haven't had anything published yet so this is more for general opinions than any professional recognition, but any criticism or comments would be massively appreciated! Anyway, this is the first of my short stories. I wrote this in 2018 for a module at university and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Until next time, I hope you stay comfortable and stay dumb. 

Voices

Look out of the window, worthless. Get up. Stupid, lazy, worthless.

I hear them every day. Always in my mind. Every day for two years. Ever since he passed. A constant stream of voices telling me I’m not good enough.

You’re not. You good for nothing coward. You couldn’t even face him when he died. Haven’t even been to see him. Traitor. You never loved him.

I did, I did! He was the only one who understood me, who knew me. I could tell him things no one else could and he wouldn’t pity me or drug me or try and lock me way. He looked past me and he saw you. And he held you back, stopped you always shouting. You were afraid of him. And now he’s gone! I shout and shout and shout at them, like I always do. It never works. They always just laugh and torment me.

Why don’t you go and visit him then?

I can’t. I’ve tried before, but every time I walk the path to the grave, the ground splits, the sky roars, the trees die and the people…they are not people. But they don’t know that. Do they?

Yes, we do. We know you, coward. We are you. Don’t think you can hide it from us. You know we see it. You failure, we hate you, just like you hate us.

They’re right. I am a failure. They know it, I know it…and he knew it. I need to go to him, to see him. I need to say sorry.

You won’t.

I will. I will go, and you won’t stop me. None of you will.

My foot leaves the door first. She can’t do it, won’t do it. The frozen air whistles past me, the chill calls to me. His grave is on the hill, only a ten minute walk. Ruin. But here, in the dead of winter, where the light snow falls, kisses the houses and trees, I see fire. It shatters the ground, it burns the air. Fear. I hear fathers voice in the flames, I feel his fist in the heat. ‘Worthless wretch!’ he shouts. ‘No daughter of mine needs help. She’s lying. She’s a broken failure. She has no future.’ The tears leave my eyes gently, and plummet into the abyss.

He was right you know. Our father.

I step forward. One foot at a time. Slowly. I can make it this time. I will make it this time. The crystal sky burns with fury, and shadow strikes the clouds. Look up, look up. Time to go home. No, not now. I can hear them laughing in my head, taunting. They whip me with their words she is lost, she can’t make it, never has before, thinks she has a chance, can’t look after herself. The floor cracks further and I see the nightmare. Or is it a memory?

I see the people, their twisted forms writhing through life they’re coming to get you. I see the shadow of a child, hear it’s laugh. I hear a thousand voices in that one laugh, all in pain. All cry out. She is you. This is no nightmare. This is memory. I see her scream at a boy bully, hurt him, hit him, break him. She claws at him, shreds his face. The blood gushes from his wounds but she doesn’t stop he wants to hurts us, hurt him first. My knees buckle, my arms are still. I know what I did to the boy. ‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to. They told me, they said he would hurt me.’ A lifetime ago.

I reach the base of the hill, and my stomach sickens. Too far, too far, so alone. He can’t help you here, he’s dead. I begin the climb you will fall. One foot follows another. Trip. I keep going. The ground trembles, the shadow people converge on me. I fall. Don’t get up. I see them, they surround me they want to hurt you, run, run, run away. I claw the hand that reaches out, it recoils. I pick myself up and run go home. I don’t know where to run. You are alone. I run to the trees, those malicious fingers reach for me, scratch at me. The hill rises and rises you will never make it. I can’t keep going, I have to escape, get out, get out. I fall again.

You failed. Again. Such a disgrace you are. You search for control, a way to pull through. You try to banish us, your fears. You know you can’t. We are you and you are us. You ran to the place you thought you would find escape; instead you found fear. You walked a memory of fury. And now, at the pinnacle lies failure. You see the stone, yet you can’t reach it. At the tip of the grave lies the seat to his soul. There still beats his heart. You see it, don’t you? Hear it? It will never be again. He has gone, left you. Alone. With us. You were his burden. And now you must carry that burden to bring him back home.

I reach out. And there he is.

‘Dylan Oscars. Forever faithful. Forever loving.’

But that is not what I see. He smiles at me from his grave. I still see his beauty. He shows me the safe path home. The fire is dead, the snow blankets it now. The shadows are whole and I see who they are. People. They are just people. I walk down the hill, along the icy path. The chill whistles. I open my gate, walk up the track to home. Such a beautiful walk.

I see home. The wind whispers. I walk to the door, slide the key in the lock, then stop. I turn around and listen. Listen to the world, listen to life and winter, listen to the people. I hear it all. Then I listen to myself. And I hear nothing.