Aphonic {TMR;Newt}

[11%]

These dreams were becoming nettling.

I thought I had dreamt the worse to dream, and I was conceived in that prefecture. I was so abominably wrong. You can't cipher to compare this to any other. Nothing could compare to the hollowness I was forced to hail.

"We got a Crank in here."

"S'il vous plaît! My little ones! Please-!"

A gunshot was fired, along with a thump cricketing dusted floorboards.

I followed behind the men in black suits inside a small rustic shack; it's aesthetic, abandoned. One that seemingly looked deserted, but the wails of a baby reverberated from down the hall. They battered at the door with the hilts of their rifles, breaking down the lock that clattered to the ground. Filing in, the cries came clearer.

I pushed my way through, greeted by a small sylvan room. All it had was a twin sized bed, veiled in white corsage sheets with a metallic copper frame. An abstract painting powered by dust hung neglected on the right-hand wall. The air was stale, suffocating in loose sand. A ball of white pressed herself into the corner, in her arms the source of the crying. This little girl, no older than seven, who was doused with her tears.

A shadowed man came in after me. I couldn't see his face despite it not being masked. My memory refused to allow me that much information and gave me nothing but pallid static as his features.

"We got two in here."

"What's their diagnostic."

I watched as one of the armored men trudged forward, ripping her brittle arms from around the baby. The infant was crying because of the suffering it was enduring. Her little hands were swollen blue, black roots spreading up her inflamed cheeks. Black blood was trickling down her right nostril. I looked away, not bearing able to bear the sight.

"The infants affected. I think the girl is an immune, sir."

"Kill it. Take the girl."

I was horrified as the proclaimed soldier seized the baby from her arms. The girl screamed in her foreign language for her sister to be returned, clawing at their padded arms and attempting to steal their guns. A fist struck her cheek; The man with the static face.

They killed her baby sister right in front of her eyes. Fired three gunshots. Prostrate to the desert terrain, a small lump in a mound of sand. This time, soundless.

I screamed with her, but mine weren't audible for their ears.

I watched as she was forced out of her home. I watched as she passed a woman's body lying stationary in the middle of the living room; a pond of blood spreading from a lesion in her forehead.

I watched and realized that I wasn't just watching. I was remembering. I was this little girl, the same almond eyes, and inky black hair. This was how I was taken from myself to be put in here.

He did this. He killed them. He took me away. The rat with a static face.

He put me in a white room and never let me leave. He put me in the water. He gave me nightmares.

He left me all alone with a hollow head.

It's his fault.

It's all his fault!

"If you keep screaming, we might as shut you up."

_

I was back to where I started. In a hysteria of revulsion, I was so disturbed by, I had to run from my hammock to empty my stomach in the far back edge of the Deadheads. My knees cracked, failing out against the flange of an exposed root. My crying was hysterical and was the loudest I have ever been in the weeks I've been here.