Shhh..... I can hear you

Voice 1

Muffling noises. Clammering of voices on top of one another. A turn to the left. A turn to the right. The tightening of the lungs. A haunty scream unbearable to the ear. A sweat on a brow.  Trembling fingers and quivering lip. A clammy feel in the hands as it grasp the cloth. Short breaths escape from the mouth, enclosing the lung passages each inhale. A sudden jolt suprises the fallen victim of this living nightmare.

There in his bedroom, in the dark, sat up a poor 14 year-old boy, in dismay after his 'vivid' nightmare. A silent cry emitts from his mouth, into his bedsheets as he stains them with his tears. Today's sufferer was Josiah Tempent, a resident of a small village with a population of 3,000. Many times before, this has happened to him. No wonder when or how. It just does. In his circumstance, he has the ability to hear into the unknown. The area we never dare trespassing until it is our time. This boy hears the dead. No one knows how this occured and what started his power to hear the dead but it was never, EVER, a good thing. Late at night, he would lie awake, disturbed by the voices in his ears. An ocassional cry of pain.

A piercing headache would stab his head from time to time and insomnia was not a stranger. What was harsher about this was the medication he received for this was never effective and for the last decade or more, there was no indifference. Most of the other kids were not aware of this and he was not a attendee of school as he gets homeschooled. Even during the day, it never stops. Never was it controlled, let alone prevented. He was rarely was outside too except from the ocassional visit to his doctor, which only occured about once every 2 years. Only reason being as the consultant visits him more frequently.

His family tried to help in many ways but on one condition. Never was he exposed outside. With his condition, it would lead to mockery and outright badmouthing to the poor boy, being an addition to his state. They care and love for him but also fear of him going insane if he was exposed to more evil.

As Josiah calms his racing heart, he looks to his bedside table and reads the time of the digital alarm clock that is sat there: 1:29am. It had been 3 nights in a row that he would wake up at 1 in the morning. As if it wasn't a nearly daily ritual. Without a second thought, he clambers out of bed and walks in the direction of the door. As he opens it he was greeted with stairs as he descends down and heads to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard, he grabs a cup and pours water into it from the pitcher on the countertop table. Retreating back up to the room, closes his door and stands in front of his mirror. He winces and chugs the entire cup and plonking it down next to his clock.

In front, he glances at his own reflection. Disalligned hair, a pale complexion that counteracts with his original asian colour undertone from the lack of vitamin D. The deepest bags that hanging below bloodshot eyes. A narrow figure that was too straight for a male with a light shirt drenched in sweat stuck to the shoulders. Chapped lips and grey flushed cheeks. In a whole, the opposite of a healthy child.

The only colour he has on him was the glint of brown in his eyes. But even that was bland and dead, if that was any more possible. There was no sparkle. Just a sad empty hole with no light to ignite. I hand with peeling skin reaches to rake through the knotted strands. Not even a wince everytime when it yanks a knot or two out.

He smooths his tongue to dampen it, only for certain drying his lips more from the acidic moisture that was his saliva. There was a barrier he could not pass and could not escape out from. In need of comfort and protection, he would clamber onto the only thing that keeps him 'alive': his necklace that dangled from his neck.

At first glance, the necklace has been seen as nothing but a plain and circular shape. However, that  silver hoop was a meaningful thing to the young boy. On the edge of the inside was the name 'Malorie' engraved in blocked handwriting.

Malorie. A name that when simple said could bring the worst pain and sorrow. A heart-reaching memory that could instantly bring a tear to the young boy's face. His love, his sanctuary, his safety net. Malorie was a person who was known but not really known, if well understood.

In a fit of not rage but dismay, Josiah launched his gangly phyisque unto his bed that squeaked from the impact. His mouth gaped but no noise dared to escape. Just a restricted breath release that shook in a vibrato-like way.

The voices. They come back like repetitive knives stabbing in the back. Just no mercy. A rupture of 'conversations' overlapped with one another. 

Nothing he could do could end it. Alll he had left was to try and ignore and drift off in attempt to sleep.

-------

A sharp drill repititvely played that caused a moan from a disturbed slumber. A hand meekly pushed the off button and reached over to the stationed area where a pair of glasses lay. Josiah slid the arms across the sides his head until the glasses rest onto his nose and comfortably perked on his ears.

A haggard yawn exerted with a stretch forward, which resulted in cracks from his back. A glance to his alarm clock, the time read 7:47am. As his feet touched the floor of his bedroom, a breeze wooshed through what was later found to be his bedroom window wide open.

Gathering a small amount of energy, he pulled the glass backwards, the transparent surface freezing on the beds of his fingertips.

With a cough and shuffle towards the bathroom, this is how his mornings begin.