Voices. It is always the voices that manifest themselves first. They come at me like bullets, one after the other, each with their own sting. From inside my mind I can hear the layers of tones, shouting and pleading and crying out. Each voice is another soldier on the war's plains. Too many to sort through, to identify, to isolate. They drown out my own thoughts until I can't be sure I have any.
I can't wind my mind back to a time when the whispers didn't exist.
The other senses appear second, if at all. For the strong ones, the young ones, I can smell their distinctive scent, like meat left on the counter for one day too long. The smell is followed by a bitter taste as they draw near. Then I find myself staring into their eyes. I always describe them as lifeless, before I catch my words and nearly laugh. Of course their eyes are lifeless, for their owners are.
It seems that I often marvel at how solid their forms appear, not as fluid and shapeless as the mainstream would have you believe. The only sense I lack with them is touch, but that may be because I can never bring myself to reach from my comfort zone.
Sometimes, so desperate to block everything out, I believe I can use distraction to forget, to forget it all. Earphones in, I crank my music loud, a shield against the nightmares about as strong as a tissue. After all, nothing from the outside can ever block the enemies from the inside.
I still remember the first time I realized that I solely had the ability to see them. I insisted that they were in need of help. Pleading, I chattered to anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.
"We have to help them, Mom! They need us!" I would push.
"Who, darling?"
"The people that follow me. The Ones Without Names." I explained.
"This again? You are far too old for imagining. Go outside and play with the neighbor kids." my mother instructed, looking with a flat gaze into me.
Not long after, I gave up. Surrendering into the whispers, I receded far back into myself. Not once more did I mention the things I heard or saw or felt. My mother noticed the change in me, I'm sure. When one lives with only a solitary other person, they tend to recognize things like that. I withdrew into books, music and internet sites. Trying to find refuge, I dropped into anything that could block out the world. Selfishly, I stopped socializing with people beyond the bare minimum.
If you have a sense of irony, you could call me a ghost of what I could have been.
My name is Adalia Kritant, and I can see, feel and communicate with ghosts.
Author's note: Hello everyone and welcome to the Hades Test, the product of my imagination. Hope you like it as much as I do! Please vote and comment, I'd love it so much if you would! :)
~ThisGoldenLife
YOU ARE READING
The Hades Test
Paranormal"My name is Adalia Kritant, and I can see, feel and communicate with ghosts." Adalia has lived her life with a curse: the ability to see and hear the dead. It has caused her to miss out on the joys of life. Friendship, happiness and love have elude...
