The Voice

by Venom

Published August 17, 2011

'Run,' the voice in my head snaps at me.

I flinch away from its biting tone, the word slicing into me like a freshly sharpened blade. Every muscle in my body screams at me, willing me to refuse, but I obey. I am weak, just an empty, broken shell, waiting to be filled. The voice controls me, bends my will; it molds me into its own sick, twisted vision of perfection.

My bare feet beat against the ground in a rushed, steady rhythm as I move, my breath coming in short gasps. Loose pebbles wedge themselves into my exposed flesh, the pressure of each step only burying them deeper. Spasms of pain shoot up my legs, burning through me like liquid fire. My body wants me to stop, wants me to rest. But the voice does not. It demands that I ignore the searing pain. So, I do.

I do not know where I am going, the voice did not plant a destination in my head, only a command. The wind is starting to get rough. It pushes against me, only making my assigned task more difficult. My hair is flying around my face, the long, auburn strands blocking my vision as they entangle themselves together in knots. My fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to run through my thick mane, undoing the wind's masterpiece. The voice does not care for physical appearance, therefore, neither do I. I ball my hands into fists and continue on.

Soon, the voice tells me to halt. I skid to a stop, doing as I am told. Fatigue grips me as I gasp for air, my chest aching. My throat burns feverishly, I feel as if it is going to close. The voice assures me that it will not. My muscles shake violently as I struggle to compose myself as quickly as I possibly can. If it appears that I cannot handle the voice's simple tasks, I will be disposed of. I would be nothing without the voice.

'Turn around,' the voice whispers.

I turn my head, staring back at the long, winding path that I just persevered through. My eyes drift to the origin of the trail, lingering there. Flames lick at the sky, fire consuming the house that had once stood so proudly in that exact spot. My house. The distinct smell of smoke clings to me, a disgusting reminder of what I have done. Tears swell up in my eyes, threatening to spill over onto my pale cheeks.

'Look at what you have done, you miserable fool. Take pride in your artwork and comfort in knowing that you are forever mine,' the voice laughs. Its laughter is unbearable, but it echoes in my head as I glance up at the clouds.

The sky has never looked darker.

Comments & reviews · 5
User avatar
Priceless
Review
Priceless wrote a review Review · Aug 18, 2011

Hi there,
This was really good. Nice vivid description, it was so interesting. Just one tiny thing that I think would make it better:

'Run,' the voice in my head snaps at me.


Cut out 'the voice in my head snaps at me.'. So just start the story with 'Run.' I think that'll make the reader go, woah. It'll be a more exciting beginning.

Keep writing! ^.^

User avatar
Suddenly
Review
Suddenly wrote a review Review · Aug 17, 2011

Hi :)
I loved your story, it had so many layers and twists, it was a treat to read :)
I couldn't find many faults so i will try to be brief.

My bare feet beat against the ground in a rushed, steady rhythm as I move, my breath coming in short gasps.
I would change the word "beat" to something else personally because it sounds very odd with "feet".
Fourth paragraph, second to last sentence :
The voice does not care for physical appearance, thereforE, neither do I.

Simple typo :)
Other than that, i think this story is brilliant. Well done!! :D

User avatar
roostangarar
Review
roostangarar wrote a review Review · Aug 17, 2011

This is a really awsome piece! I got to about half-way through the third paragraph before I had to skip to the bottom to see what happened at the end. It gripped me to the extent that I found myself actually leaning forward in my chair, without knowing I'd done it. The only things wrong are the 'e' you missed on 'therefore' near the end of the fourth paragraph, and the lack of description of the protaganist's surroundings. Why are they running on pebbles? Are they on a beach? A path? And when you mention the 'long, winding path', is it a path through a field of pebbles, or a path made of pebbles through a wood, or what?
Other than those points, it was really great to read. Keep it up!

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dolwright
Review
dolwright wrote a review Review · Aug 17, 2011

I love the sequencing of events in each paragraph. I think there is a typo error in the third paragraph, "therefor-e" should have an 'e' right. The imagery is perfect. The story has a captivating effect on its reader. I was glad to read it.



Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities pressing into her soul.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening