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Speaking Death

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Speaking Death When we were younger I always used to ignore my brother Wayne's shouts and screams. Now we are adults, and even though I try to ignore his yelling with all my might the sounds that emanate from his mouth still infiltrate into my mind. You would think that he was in pain. He was, I guess, in the pain of frustration, in the pain of being unable to speak. All the sounds he could ever make were screams and whines. Everyone pities people like that, including me of course. I also wanted to be able to put him out of his misery like everyone else but our parents were adamant that such 'barbaric actions' were not at all necessary; they would not let Wayne go in such a callous way. Don't get me wrong, I loved Wayne more than anything I owned or had, we grew up as close siblings. ...read more.


My strong love for Wayne deteriorated and transformed into a burning hatred, I felt so ashamed of it but unfortunately as it progressed it became uncontrollable. When he died I felt ecstatic for the first time in the many years I had hidden my loathing for Wayne from him and everyone else. A couple of days later after Wayne's death I started to hear familiar whines, at first they were diminutive, quiet whines, similar to a dog pining, therefore I thought it must be the dog next door. If only it was. After a time the whines gradually altered into loud piercing screams that penetrated my ear drum. No one else appeared to hear the wails coming from behind me that reminded me so much of Wayne. I would turn around as fast as I could, but to no avail. I never found the source of the haunting noises. A t night I have dreams of Wayne screaming as the murderer slit his throat. ...read more.


Although I have to admit my life is more different than that. It seems to me to be traumatized in a way, not noticeably so that normal people would notice but I have noticed subtle changes in my lifestyle not to mention the change of long ago, yes, they are still here all the time following me like a shadow, the shouts and screams. Some nights I sleep, sometimes I don't, and on one of the sleepless nights I went down stairs for a cup of relaxing tea. In the kitchen on the wall I saw a message written in blood 'You murderer.' In a frantic panic I spun round, anxiously searching. I saw nothing, just my house, as it always was, tidy, clean, and empty. I couldn't stand it anymore; I refused to take more pain and fear. I stumbled over to the knife rack my eyes filled with tears and grabbed the knife that had been fatal to Wayne. With my last breath of life I cried out with one last piercing scream. "I'm sorry Wayne!" Fiona Malpass 10C1 15 September Personal and Imaginative writing ...read more.

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