The Field of Whispers | Teen Ink

The Field of Whispers

December 5, 2008
By BaileyW SILVER, Indian Springs, Alabama
BaileyW SILVER, Indian Springs, Alabama
5 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I was sitting on a swing, kicking my legs back and forth. The evening breeze pulled its gentle fingers across my face. It almost felt like a lovers caress; so smooth and gentle. It was comforting to know, in the small place in the back of my head that was my peace of mind, that I had a place to come to when I was having such troubles.
This wasn't the first time I had come here, to the empty park that probably would have scared any normal person. But, no, I wasn’t normal. That much was definitely certain. Every night I was plagued by nightmares that didn’t make sense. That was probably the most frightening thing about them. Yes. Yes, it was frightening to know that you were trapped in a dream world full of whispers that didn’t speak any human language.
The dream tonight had started like they always do. You would think I would get used to them; I’d dreamt them so many times. They always started leaving me standing in the middle of a field that stretched as far as the eye could see, and faded away in a creepy mist. The field had tall swaying weeds that seemed to carry whispers of unknown origin through the air.
I could try to explain how scary being in a field with nothing but whispers to comfort you was, but I would fail miserably. Being in the dream was the only way to feel the full force of the terror that always seized my heart when I knew I was trapped in the swaying, whispering weeds. I’ll just explain how the dream would usually go.
I whipped my head around, trying desperately to see a face of any kind, but to no avail. I attempted to run, but I might as well have not been moving one bit, for all the good it did me. Even though my legs moved, my heart raced, and sweat poured down my face, it seemed like I was moving nowhere. The whispers were still beating on my ears, and I was only running through endless, swaying grass.
I had woken up then, in a cold sweat, panic still clutching my chest like a person clings on to the edge of a cliff. But I had escaped the field of whispers. For now. Without a doubt, I would be plagued by them, once again, the next time I submitted to sleep. I shuddered at the thought. How much longer could I take it?

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.