The Whisperers.
Chapter One.
My escape was much easier than I expected.
My backpack held my few belongings, and my hand held my flashlight. My mind, of course, held my memories. Nine years of memories crammed into one sixteen-year-old mind; the true meaning behind 'pack and go'. My memories had become a part of me, a part of who I was and a part of who I would become. They were not only my past, but my future.
My memories held memories of their own. It was like a package deal; every memory came with my thoughts, feelings, emotions and picture. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. But sometimes, one thousand words is too little to fully describe the picture.
Nine years of torture, three minutes of escape. Record time. I was out.
Out of hell. Out of feelings. Out of thoughts. Out of whispers. Free. Or so I thought.
That first night on the streets was the worst. I had imagined my escape to be more... graceful. I imagined myself to be euphoric; drowned in my own happiness and freedom. But of course, that was not the case. And when reality crashed down to remind me of that fact, the word 'miserable' would have to be amplified by a million to give a decent description of how I was feeling.
I slept on a green park bench that night, my arms huddled around me as if I were freezing. But no, I wasn't freezing. It was my memories flooding me, not the cold. And for the first of many times in the start of my new lifestyle, I wished I could go home. Home. Where was home?
It was not my institution. The place smelt of rubbing alcohol, cigarettes and fear. The air floated in tension. The floors squeaked in terror. It was not my home. It never had been, and it never would be. That, I was certain.
It was not the place I had lived before the institution, either. That place always remained nameless, even though the address was drilled into my memory. No, I could never go back there. Never.
I listened to the whispers.
It was something I had promised myself I would never do. Something I had vowed never to do. But that first night, they were louder than they had ever been before. Their voices blared at me, roaring their words over and over again, burning a whole in my mind. I had no other choice, so I listened.
They told me to run.
So I did.
My backpack held my few belongings, and my hand held my flashlight. My mind, of course, held my memories. Nine years of memories crammed into one sixteen-year-old mind; the true meaning behind 'pack and go'. My memories had become a part of me, a part of who I was and a part of who I would become. They were not only my past, but my future.
My memories held memories of their own. It was like a package deal; every memory came with my thoughts, feelings, emotions and picture. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. But sometimes, one thousand words is too little to fully describe the picture.
Nine years of torture, three minutes of escape. Record time. I was out.
Out of hell. Out of feelings. Out of thoughts. Out of whispers. Free. Or so I thought.
That first night on the streets was the worst. I had imagined my escape to be more... graceful. I imagined myself to be euphoric; drowned in my own happiness and freedom. But of course, that was not the case. And when reality crashed down to remind me of that fact, the word 'miserable' would have to be amplified by a million to give a decent description of how I was feeling.
I slept on a green park bench that night, my arms huddled around me as if I were freezing. But no, I wasn't freezing. It was my memories flooding me, not the cold. And for the first of many times in the start of my new lifestyle, I wished I could go home. Home. Where was home?
It was not my institution. The place smelt of rubbing alcohol, cigarettes and fear. The air floated in tension. The floors squeaked in terror. It was not my home. It never had been, and it never would be. That, I was certain.
It was not the place I had lived before the institution, either. That place always remained nameless, even though the address was drilled into my memory. No, I could never go back there. Never.
I listened to the whispers.
It was something I had promised myself I would never do. Something I had vowed never to do. But that first night, they were louder than they had ever been before. Their voices blared at me, roaring their words over and over again, burning a whole in my mind. I had no other choice, so I listened.
They told me to run.
So I did.
♠ ♠ ♠
You'll start to understand sooner or later; just wait for more chapters. Comments would be the bomb, too. :)