I'm really at war with myself over this...
I
Emilie
“What are you doing today?”
“Uh, nothing...”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Why don’t you go see those friends you told me about?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re… busy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Sigh. “Don’t waste your life, Emilie.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Hm, okay.”
“Okay.”
The image fades until I was, again, sat staring at my own reflection in the mirror. Lila often came and went as she pleased; never at a certain point in the day, but usually daily. Urgh. There is always this small voice at the back of my mind, screaming over and over again,
‘This isn’t natural! You’re talking to a damn mirror!’
I still carry on though, I mean, it’s not everyday you make a new friend, is it? Not that I have many friends, anyways, so I can hardly be picky. Regardless to what I tell Lila, I spend most of my days in my building-site-turned-flat that I don’t actually own. Of course, I lived in my parent’s house for a month or so after they died, but since big houses don’t come cheap, and with me just finishing school, it’s not as if I had the cash lying around. I had to use the what little money my parent’s left me in their will to pay the mortgage, but even that wasn’t enough for three months worth of payments. Despite my best efforts (me working two part-time jobs and one at night for a minimum wage) I just couldn’t keep up; I had to sell my parents house.
With no money, no home or family, and a real fucked state of mind, I decided that it would probably be best if I just hid in the background of this shitty town, only taking what wasn’t wanted, like this place. Half the time, I expect it to cave in on me, snapping my thin bones and squashing my weak frame until I am nothing but a bloody pulp, not that anyone would miss me, hey? I am just a ghost of who I was.
‘How cliché. ‘The ghost of who I was’. Jesus, you’re pathetic.’
The voice in my head rings out, sending shooting pains through my brain, almost like a bad headache.
“I am not pathetic.” I spit through gritted teeth, “Get out of my head.”
‘As if you grumbling at me is going to scare me off!’ The voice cackles, causing me to flinch, ‘See! Look how weak you are. Can’t even stand listening to your conscience!’
“I am not weak!” I cry out, clutching my head in pain,
‘OK. Prove it.’
“How?”
‘You know how.’
“Please don’t make me do it. Not again.” I plead, my hands beginning to tremble. I hate it when it made me do this.
YOU ARE READING
Voices - A Short Story
Teen Fiction"You're both the missing parts of the puzzle. I need you both more than you understand. Oh, how I'm going to enjoy this..." Emilie's life, after finishing school, has slowly but surely begun spiralling out of control. That is until she is visited by...
