Seven Years of Whispers - an Avowal
It’s been almost two years
since I arrived.
Not much has changed
in that time.
Seven hundred days
have gone by;
Seven hundred sunsets
I’ve missed.
Seven hundred nights
where no one’s thought of me –
or if they did,
they tried to forget.
It’s been in my head
for seven years now.
It used to torment me
but I’ve gotten used to it.
I can no longer tell
my own thoughts from its.
Initially it was just a whisper,
hardly audible.
It became louder,
and I began to hate it.
That’s where my memory
becomes blotchy.
I killed someone.
I don’t remember who.
But I remember
the blood on my hands,
the metallic tang in the air,
and the sudden realization.
I remember fleeing
into the woods,
and hiding till dark.
My mother was silent
when she found out.
She thought I’d
seen the body and somehow
convinced myself
that I’d done it.
She helped me wash
and sang lullabies
that night.
I felt too old for them,
but they helped.
The voice was louder after that,
but I still ignored it.
I tried to live normally,
like everyone else.
I can’t remember all
that happened next,
but one day
I tried to strangle my brother.
I don’t remember any of it,
only afterwards when
my mother screamed his name
and locked me in my room.
That’s when I realized
they’d never want me.
I’d become too much
for them to handle.
I slipped out the window
and ran.
I don’t know how long
I lived the life of a vagabond.
Maybe a month,
maybe three.
It all fades in and out
of my memory.
Sometimes I’m not sure anymore,
what I’ve made up
and what is real.
I don’t think I killed
anyone else.
I do know I stole
and prowled lonely streets
long after dark,
like a sly old dog,
rejected and unwanted,
but still alive.
Eventually they caught me,
and tied my hands
behind my back
so I couldn’t resist.
They didn’t have a prison
in that village,
so they took me here
instead.
My cell is small –
I can fit ten footsteps
along one wall
and seventeen
on the other.
There’s one corner
where water pools;
it tastes of cold iron
and slimy misery.
The only light I ever see
is the flickering torchlight
on the passage wall.
My eyes have gotten used
to the dark.
I enjoy the darkness now.
I’ll sit on the edge of my cot,
staring into the darkness,
listening to the voice
that whispers to me.
My only companion,
whose presence I enjoy.
I’m not scared of it anymore.
When it’s quiet I’ll look
at the mildewy wall,
recalling all the voice
has said and promised.
For the whole time I’ve been here,
there’s been only
five others imprisoned.
The fifth arrived two days ago.
Locked up for a mistake,
a mere accident.
Her name’s Elira,
and she’s seventeen.
She says her brother
will break her out.
I know what she says is true.
I’ve been here for seven hundred days.
I was thrown in this cell
almost two years ago.
I’m sixteen now.
But I feel older than that.
It’s funny
what darkness can do to you.
Elira talks to me a lot.
When she’s speaking,
the voice in my head goes silent,
as if it’s making sure
I don’t miss anything.
Her brother will come,
I’m sure.
The voice assures me he’ll come
on the evening of the festival.
Three days.
I can wait that long.
Three days is nothing to me
anymore.
I sit in the corner,
listening to Elira talk,
and wait.
Three days
and once more I’ll be free.
Elira falls silent,
and I hear muffled footsteps
and whispers.
He’s come for her.
How interesting.
I lean back
against the stone wall,
and smile for the first time
in months.
Three days early.
Seven hundred days
have been lost to me.
I won’t miss another.
The key clicks in the lock
and my cell door swings open.
He’s three days early.
I’ve missed seven hundred sunsets.
I never saw the stars
when I was fifteen.
But I’m sixteen now,
and will make up
for what I’ve missed.
The voice in my head
is stirring again,
making my thirst for freedom
like the burn
of a scorching desert.
I step into the moonlight.
I’m free now.
Indebted to those
who unlocked my cell.
I choose to flee
with my liberators –
Elira, her brother,
and another girl,
not quite an adult.
They don’t speak.
So I do.
My words make them all stop
and turn to me,
eyes wide and frightened.
For seven hundred days,
I was locked in a cell.
For seven years,
the voice in my head
has whispered to me.
I used to be scared of it.
I’m not anymore.
I grin at their startled expressions.
They don’t know
what they’ve unleashed.
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