Sunday, March 1, 2015

flash fiction: I sit in class, distracted

I sit in class, distracted. The teacher at the front of the room writes on the chalk board, smearing the chalk across the empty blackness, writing words  I don't understand. The voices gnawing at my ears, the voices that no one else hears.
I look around the room, watching others; faces towards the front, nodding their heads in agreement, jotting down more words in their notebooks. Words. I can't seem to grasp them, other than the silent ones that batter my eardrums. I cup my hands over my ears to block out their noise, feeling as though unseen fingers are prying my own, one by one, away from my protected ears.
The class bell rings and I jump. Everyone laughs at me as I gather my bag slumped on the floor. I dash out of the classroom, out of the school, and hurry home. The sun shines brightly against my eyes; I smile for a brief moment before I hear them again. The voices.
They are always asking me, coaxing me, hoping I will converse. But I ignore them, afraid of what new thing might come of my giving in. My feet pick up pace until I am within my home, slamming the door behind me.
I am alone in my house, the silence should be deafening, though it never is for me. I throw my school bag against the floor and make my way to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. The voices become so loud that I can see my water vibrating within my glass, shaking with their words.
I finally give in and scream my answers, scream my thoughts, only to have the voices quiet for just a moment before they begin to chatter on incessantly once again. I throw my glass across the room, watching it smash against the wall. The pieces fall to the floor as water drizzles down the wallpaper, and I once again find myself cupping my ears tightly to block out the sound.

Written by K, Copyright 2015

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