Whispered Notes

Chapter 1

People loose track of time in places like this. Loose all sense of the minutes and seconds flying past their eyes, pushing them towards their grave. I don't bother counting anymore.

They won't tell me much about this place. They say the institute is for children, like myself, who have lost their way. I'm not a child anymore I say to them. I've never been a child is what I don't tell them.

I'm not sure why I'm here. The nurses never carry a conversation that isn't behind one-way glass. They only hints I get are when I sway to the orchestra that no one else seems to hear. They look down their noses and glance at each other. They think just because I am 'different', I am stupid. They think that because I can hear a band of melodies every where I go that my brain is stuffed with cotton.

Each night before they shut my lights off, blue and black pills are brought in on a silver tray. They watch with a certain glee as I struggle them down my throat. It doesn't take long for the pills to take effect. The colours of my walls dampen and everything sounds fuzzy, as if my head were trapped in a bubble. They know this. What they don't know is that the music never stops. They believe me when I say I hear nothing, they think I am incapable of lying.

☆*: ~｡.☆ .｡~.:*☆

A soft light drifts through my double panned window, disturbing my quiet dreams. I rub the sleep from my eyes and shift in my stiff sheets as the notes of a shy piano cradle my head. Letting out a sigh prop myself up so I'm leaning on my elbows. I survey my room with such intensity it gives me a slight head-spin. I have to make sure everything is the same. Some would call me paranoid but I can never trust that they don't come and steal away my small amount of threadbare items.

I remember being whisked away in the dead of night. I'm still surprised that I was allowed to pack. "One bag" I was told. And that is what I did. I stuffed every thing I could possibly fit into a tattered old suitcase, my mothers tattered old suitcase. The mere thought of that night brings forth a surge of music and memories. The sharp cry of violins not unlike a child's cry surround the fuzzy slideshow flickering in my mind. The feeling of a cold gun etched into the blades of my shoulders as I struggle with the zipper. Someone is sobbing. I'm not sure if it was me. Bag ripped from my hands as boots kick me down the stairs of my porch. A blue car with no seat belts waits for my arrival. I subconsciously feel around the bed. Cold strings sew their way into my stomach. Leaning over the edge of my bed I spot the place where my teddy lies after abandoning me in the night.

I lean down and pick her up quickly, clutching her to my chest. She's the only thing that stops the creatures in my nightmares crawling into the daylight and raking their sharp claws over my face and sinking their jagged teeth into my flesh.

Holding her out in front of me I examine the scars time has left. The old cat was quite scruffy in some places. Multiple rips decorated her ears and tail. Her white patches worn to a dull grey. But she was mine.

"Today will be different." I tell George. I search her little face for a reply. As usual, she stares back, unblinking. I let out another sigh. I like sighing

I throw my legs off the bed, humming softly to the sonatas twirling around me. If I'm lucky, I'll remember a song and my orchestra will entertain me with it's melody. Standing up I begin my routine.

-make the bed

-get dressed

-sit at the desk

-wait for the knock

My movements almost mechanical as I tugged on a pair of tatty old jeans. If I had owned them back in the 2000 kids would have called me trendy. Now I just look homeless. Grabbing a graphic tee and a pair of black socks from my suitcase, I flip the lid shut and return it to it's home under my bed.

I pull out my chair and settle into it, my red shoes gripped in my fingers. As I slip them on I glance up at that side of the room. An invisible barrier stopping my from leaving my threshold cuts across the floor like police tape. It looks almost exactly like my side, except the sheets of the untouched bed are blue, and the small desk sits empty, longing to be used.

Click

My door says when they swipe their keycard. Five seconds later a sharp knock echoes throughout my ears, sounding three times before a crack appears in my doorway.

Today it is Barbra

She doesn't know that I've heard her name whispered through the halls of my makeshift home. She doesn't know that the other inhabitants are afraid of her. She does know that I don't like her. I know she does not like me. Her too tight face it staring at me with her too tight bun and too shoes. She says nothing as she lifts her head a little higher. With a haughty sniff she steps a little to the side, signaling for me to step out into the hall. I run my hands through my nutmeg hair and glance at George.

I well of pity pools in my chest and my pianist tinkers with his soul wrenching notes. I would take her with me to the common room but I'm afraid some of the younger kids will rip her from my grip and carry her away.

I can hear her little voice calling out.

"Alex? Please don't leave me.."

I turn away and walk out the door hiding my discomfort. I give Barbra a little wink as I walk past her. She shuffles her feet slightly. I enjoy unnerving people. It's my guilty pleasure.

I can still hear George's voice ringing in my ears. It doesn't scare me that I can hear her. It scares me that she sounds a lot like someone I left behind.

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