When I was fourteen there was a fire in our wooden house. Mother and father perished. I saved Anne, my dear Anne, pulling her out before the flames rose. The officials and experts on scene declared the suspicion of foul play. I watched Anne weep for mother and father.
Personally, being an honest soul they had it coming.
They betrayed me. Who were they to say I belonged in a special ward? Who were they to say my screws were off at all the right places. I was enraged. The voices were maddened. They longed for retribution and so I lit the fire. The voices told me how. Had the people known it was I, I would have been called a murderer, but the whispers in my ear were so comforting. I had not killed a man and woman. I had saved Anne and myself from hurt.
We were sent to an orphanage.
YOU ARE READING
Voices
Short StoryIt was a silent swish and a soft splatter of red on the sheets. I felt no guilt for the voices told me so.
