Hands (Voice chapter 2)A Chapter by SomeoneSomewhereChapter two for These Walls of Glass. Spent a while working on it and I hope you enjoy! Any critiques, reviews, etc. welcomeThey came for me in darkness. Or at least, what I’ve now grown to think
of as darkness. Because really; how can you think of
something as dark when you’ve never known light? Back then the blackness was everything I’d
known; safe, familiar, and always there. Just like The Voice. Both stayed with me throughout the
nothingness; one, a companion, and the other a blanket, a barrier between my
world and the world out there. No monsters lurked within my blanket. But when the light finally came, so did the
monsters. Monsters. Doctors. What’s the difference? Their greedy hands clutched at me, some
hooking under my arms, others grabbing at my clothes. Violently, thoughtlessly,
mindlessly they physically attacked me. But what was worse by far was the sound. Sound! A word that had only meant silence thus
far. Raspy, guttural noises made from deep
within the throat. Each word was like a slap across my face, each sentence a
punch to the gut. My mind went blank for a second, then began
racing at super-speed. Make
the noise stop, make the noise stop, make the noise stop! The Voice, or my own mind; I couldn’t tell
which but the meaning to me was clear as glass. With each repetition it grew more agitated,
the glass trembling under the pressure until I was sure it would crack. I did the only thing I could. A deep
instinctual reaction that began in my gut and raced up my body before escaping
from my mouth in a rush of air. I screamed. The scream was inborn, raw, and brain
shattering. Worse, worse, so much worse than the voices of the doctors. I’ve
always thought fear isn’t about what is there, but more about what could be there. That monster under your
bed. That phone call you thought you’d never get. The sound you thought you’d
never hear. That was what it felt like right then. It
was as if some monster- the doctors- had reached their probing hands straight
into my brain, rummaged carelessly through memories of nothingness, and pulled
out what I feared most. That one day that nothingness would be
gone. That one day The Voice would be gone, and I
would be alone. More alone than I ever was in that deep
darkness; even with hundreds of doctors surrounding me, questioning me, fearing
me. That’s when I would be truly alone. I drew in tight, not just physically but
mentally as well. I felt my entire being scrunch up into a tiny ball, The Voice
at the very centre surrounded by layers of fear and pain. Shivering, I took solace in the whispers of
The Voice. Louder, louder, it was getting louder and more agitated. Fearful,
even. As if my scream had startled The Voice as much as it had startled me. As if The Voice had finally realized I was
there. Up until now I had been quiet, a silent
eavesdropper in the murmurings of The Voice. Never uttering a sound, never
breaking the thin glass sheet of silence. Silence so full, that it was almost like a
third presence in the room. Like the nothingness in-between the stars, it was
just there. But with the doctors came a fourth
presence, then a fifth, then a sixth, and so many more that I stopped counting.
Like bees attracted to a ripe flower, they swarmed to me, poking, touching,
shoving. My limbs, my lead-laden, never-before-used
limbs, were useless to me. The neurons in my brain sent fiery surges racing
through my veins, fast, faster, but never fast enough. It was as if each time I
thought of kicking or struggling there was a hand ready to catch my flailing
limbs. They dragged me from under my blanket into
a world of screaming colours and crippling sounds. People, people, people, so many people. They were everywhere; some forming little
tight groups in corners, others spread out, but all were doing the same thing. All of them were slowly drawing away; their
faces frozen in masks of horror and pity and… fear? Fear of what? Of Me? The people behind shouldered their way to
the front, often violently or impatiently, to see what was going on. To see me.
Me, me, me. Thinking of myself as singular made
me squirm and claw at my throat in terror. What had happened to we? What had
happened to the… The Voice! Where was it? I viciously
attacked the inner workings of my brain almost as viciously as the doctors had
attacked me, searching for The Voice. And what I found made my blood run cold. It Wasn’t There. Frantically, I searched the faces of the
people crowding around me, looking from shadowed face to shadowed face. That’s how I saw them- as shadows. Shadows
of men, of women, of children. Empty souls of people with no real substance at
all, simply doing what other people told them to do. Like shadows. Shadows without A Voice. Just the thought of living without A Voice,
as an empty, empty shadow brought me to my knees. Again, a low keening wail
formed deep in my throat and exploded out my mouth. Like a grenade it acted,
forcing the people gathered around me back. The sentiment spread like a
contagious disease, one passed from mouth to ear in the form of whispers and
murmurs. Ignoring the vicious words that felt like slaps
across my cheeks, I began to claw at my face with my bare hands. I felt
fingernails bite into skin, hungrily, drawing blood. Blood that matched the red in the sky and
the fire in the eyes of the doctors. Blood that, try as I might, could never
wash away the stains left on my soul by their dirty hands. Just as I was about to fall into the
welcoming hands of Morpheus; grimy, foul, dark hands that at the moment weren’t
so different from the hands of the doctors, I saw something. Something besides the shadows of men and
women and emptiness that flowed through them. Something besides the Doctors
with their screaming white lab-coats and grimy, foul, dark hands. I saw a person. A person not composed of wisps of smoke and
emptiness, but of flesh and blood and bones. A person like me. In other words, The Voice. I’m not quite sure how I came to that
glass-shattering conclusion, but once I saw him, I knew. A firm, tangible,
irrevocable conclusion that, like the hands of the doctors, couldn’t be shaken
off. A wild, fearful emotion found its way into
my body and began to course through my veins; Despair. Harnessing it, I tensed every muscle in my
body and contracted inwards; tight, tighter, tighter, until I was an unmoving
mass of energy. Then, like some caged animal given its first taste of freedom,
I exploded. I unleashed the fire in my veins, letting
it overwhelm me and making me a slave to its will. I lunged forward, groping
hands outstretched towards him. The
Voice. Panicking, the Shadows around me recoiled,
some covering empty faces with empty hands, others contorting their twisted
bodies in terror. The last thing I saw before Morpheus’ arms
tightened their hold around me and darkened my vision was the fearful face of
The Voice glancing in my direction. His face, stretched into a mask of anger,
did little to hide the terror growing inside him. The terror grew and grew, and
eventually succumbing to it, he turned his back on me and fled. The boxy,
card-board-like boxes swallowed him up as he ran, faster and faster, through
the sullied streets. Running towards a red horizon and away from
me. It was in that instant that I made a vow. While having cunningly evaded me today-
slipping past like sand through my fingers- this was not the last time we would
meet. Because though I would soon be imprisoned
by the doctors, my feet shackled and hands manacled to a wall covered in cracks
and layers, this was not the end. Somehow, I would find a way to set fire to
that sand and turn it into glass. And using that glass I would cut my way out
of the restraints and prison the not-so-clever doctors had made for me, and I
would find him. I would find The Voice. © 2012 SomeoneSomewhereAuthor's Note
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Compartment 114
Compartment 114
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