The voice in the night
A short novel by Jessica Stone
I wake up in the middle of the night, again. Because of the voice, it’s always… just coming in the night, when I’m asleep. I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I get to think that it’s just a dream. But I know that it’s for real, because that the voice says, that I’ll get a mark on my arm, and when it’s morning I have a mark on my arm. It’s creepy, but I’m getting used to it. I guess that it started when I was 6 years old. That time my… that time my sister died. She died in a fire accident. I still think about her, even though it’s 9 years ago, but she was my big sister. I’ll never forget her, and I’ll never forget the day she died. I saw her die, but I couldn’t help her, I guess I never have forgiven myself for that. Back to the voice. It’s a male, or that would be my guess. But sometimes the voice says that I have to take care of myself, I know very well what the voice mean by it, but I never listen, and even if I listened to it, it wouldn’t help. Nobody has been them selves after my sister’s death. Some of them, who were evil to me, were suddenly nice to me, and some of them who were nice to me, were suddenly evil to me, including my parents. They started to say that I wasn’t their child, because that sister died. And then they hurt me, like hitting me or something like that, but like I said before I’m used to it. And they are my parents after all. Sometimes I think about what I will do if the voice disappeared, I think I would miss it. It’s a part of me now. And somehow it takes care of me. So I don’t want it to disappear, I just want to know why it’s there, and how it came.