Monthly Archives: March 2017

Central Voice Extracts

So, to keep me writing I have embarked on a little story that I hope to keep adding to for your enjoyment. The thing is I am not sure how best to portray my central voice. I have two options here that I would love you to have a read through and let me know which one you think reads best. I’m not going to give anything away by telling you a theme, you may be able to piece it together from these short intros.

Thanks!


Option 1:

Anxious. Very anxious. If I keep moving, keep walking along this same stretch of wall, over and over, something might change. Something may give and I can drink, eat, sleep. The smell of spoiled meat is making me confused, I can’t remember what I was doing but I know I cannot shout any longer. It hurts too much to shout and no one comes anyway. They used to shout back from behind the door but they went silent eventually. In the end, I had to give in and relieve myself in the corner of the room, I felt so ashamed that I couldn’t return to pacing or shouting. I’ll just lay here by the door and wait for something to change, something to give. Then the smell, not the spoiled smell but a fresh smell as if the outside was creeping in from under the door. It’s so close that I have to get out and be in it, out of here, in it, out of here, in it, out of here. Just pull it and tear at it and it will give, it has to give. I’d cry but that hurts, so I continue to tear away at the door. Sometimes big chunks of the wood fall to my feet and sometimes the splinters stick into me but the pain is nothing compared to the need to be out. Out. Out. I have to be out. I can see the light from the other side now and the cold air seems to chase away the small of my shame in the corner. Almost, almost. I can almost fit through the hole now and it is so close that I cannot think of anything other than being out of this room. I’m through and…and now the next door but the smell isn’t fresh behind that one. It’s spoiled, I can hear the spoiled meat moving as if wants out too. Its shouts are mere whispers but I know it is not nice, not friendly at all so instead I’ll take the stairs to the next room. The smell of spoiled meat is just as strong there but I know there is also water and the burn in my throat has returned and reminded me that I am ever so thirsty. The door is open and I dive straight into the water and drink and drink until I have no choice but to breath and then I drink some more. I am not so anxious now, the walls are different here and my shame is gone, the spoiled meat is quiet and all I can hear is something moving from within the bath. I will not drink the water in there, it has something spoiled that wants out.


Option 2:

I had the life. Oh what a life it was, food to fill my stomach, fields that were endless and when the day was done, I had somewhere to rest my head and dream my dreams. Oh, what beautiful dreams they were. Okay, so mostly they were of endless fields and food to fill my stomach but that was just how good life was, until now. Now, I’m trapped. I had shouted until my voice broke and my throat dried. I paced and cried until I could no longer fight the urge. I was ashamed when I relieved myself in the corner of the room. I could no longer pace by that corner and instead, I sat against the door and listened to the silence fall into the night where I slept fitfully. I only woke when the smell of spoiled meat chased my crooked dreams away and brought me back into the room of closed doors and shame. Its scent had grown stronger, not because it had come closer to my door but because it had passed by somewhere where the breeze came in and carried it through the house. All I could do was smell past the death and decay and put the pieces of the outside world together in my mind. There was the herb garden bellow the kitchen window and the damp dirt path that led to the petrol scented garage at the bottom of the long garden. My stomach growled and that made me sigh as I knew already that there wasn’t a morsel of food in here, no water either. When I get out of here I am jumping in that pond and drinking that damn thing dry, then I’ll eat the fish as they thrash about in the sludge. Another night crept in while I wasn’t looking and just as before the morning came with utter silence only broken by my empty stomach. Some form of hunger delusion had fallen on me when I heard voices from beyond this damn door so I shouted, I needed them to hear me, to save me from this endless torment of four walls. I heard the things that smelt like spoiled meat grow restless too, disturbed by my cries. Screw them, I wanted out and they can shout at me all they like. My cries must have worked because the voices grew into shouts too, “Just deal with it before we all get…” The rest of the words were drowned out by the handle of my room twisting, and I fixated on it. I was going to greet the shit out of whoever was about to release me. The guy who stood in the doorway smelt heavily of smoke and sweat, the device in his hand pointed in my direction. A device I knew that could pull a pheasant out of the air in one loud bang. His eyes looked kind enough but I could feel his fear emanating from the little room, he was going to bloody shoot me. Somewhere luck smiled down on me and at that moment that the creature that reeked of spoiled meat, took hold of him from behind and tore out throat in a whispered cry. His fear peaked, flooding the room and his fear was catching. I took that moment to hightail it past him, through the kitchen following the scent of the fresh day and out into the sunlight. Screw the pond. Screw the fish. I was just going to run until all memory of that room is forgotten. Somewhere there was another voice behind me, “Did that idiot let the bloody dog escape?”
Screw them too.