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Queen of Whispers
Not all prisons have bars, not all cages have locks. My mind — you see, my mind implements the same concept. My mind has no bars; no doors; no locks. Yet it confines me within its prison. I am held captive within my own jail. Though it is true I do not suffer within my cage.
Suffer. The word has such a vast area of meaning — different ways it could be comprehended.
Suffer: to experience and be affected by; to appear worse in condition.
I do not suffer pain. I do not suffer fools. Yes, it is true I do not suffer.
I do not suffer, I endure.
Endure. The word has such a similar meaning to the previous word I used. The two words are so close, yet still so far.
Endure: to remain unyielding under misfortune without surrendering though it is difficult.
I endure the hardships my life has offered me. I endure the whispers inside my head.
Whispers. I suppose you could call me the Queen of Whispers, for they are all that consume my head. Writhing around its threshold like insects devouring a tree's bark.
Devour: to eat hungrily or hastily; to destroy completely.
My mind has certainly destroyed me. I am unable to discern the difference between my own thoughts and someone else's. I feel everything and nothing all at once. I wake up and the first thought that consumes me, is not my own — but rather a person’s who I may not even know. They may be two feet away, they may be ten, yet I feel their pain and suffering all the same.
I endure their pain. I endure their nightmares. My nightmares are not even my own — never my own. My mind has no control over itself when asleep. It is free to roam wherever it may wish. Dismally, it drags me along with it, and I am obliged to endure someone’s greatest fear.
I am frequently told I have been blessed with a gift, and that I should be grateful. Why should I be grateful for being given poison?
Gift: an object given willingly to someone.
I do not remember willingly accepting a so-called gift.
My ‘gift’ is what one may regard as similar to love: a balm as much as poison. Although in my eyes, this gift cannot be said of the same. It is a poison through and through. Love is poison through and through.
Love: an intense feeling of deep sentiment, a profoundly tender endearment for another.
I was in love once. I was in love with a beautiful girl whose soul was too pure for this world. My love for her turned my mind into a cage. My love for her is embedded into my head, and those fleeting moments we shared inhabit my memories day and night. Some days I fear that I will never love another, for my love for her was too great, my love for her could fill up the vast oceans and seas. Now that she is gone, I am merely floating in that ocean, waiting to be saved and spared from this heartache. But I cannot float in an ocean that has already been drained. Maybe that’s why I clung to that love — because I was afraid of waking up to emptiness. To a place where I was alone and nothing more than a single streak of darkness carved onto a canvas of light.
Perhaps, I could escape my jail if I learned to embrace my pain, in lieu of letting it harvest into something much more foul or grotesque. Perhaps I could escape my pain, if I was willing to shine a torch upon my darkness and make it submissive to the light. But I don’t know how to. I’ve faked being someone I’m not for so long now, that when I look in the mirror, I don’t recognise the girl staring back. And it scares me; it scares me to death because I don’t know who I am anymore. It's easy to lose sight of yourself, especially when you find the sight itself isn’t worth seeing. I’ve found that after being trapped in the darkness for so long, it has turned me into a monster. I’ve strayed down a path so vile, that there is nothing or no one of this world who could save me. I can only be destroyed — but only a monster can destroy a monster.
Darkness: the partial or total vacancy of light.
I suppose that is what you could call me. Darkness. For I am empty within. I am empty save for the whispers that inhabit my mind.
Empty: containing nothing; not filled or occupied.
I suppose in that sense, I'm not entirely empty. How could I be empty when these whispers never leave my mind? So do not tell me I am alone within when you are not the one engulfed within your own darkness. Do not tell me I am alone within, for I am not. I have my pain and darkness for company.
This is not a story of a girl embracing her darkness. This is not a story of contentment nor sorrow. I may loathe myself, but I will not allow myself to show pity or remorse towards it. As I stated before: I do not suffer. I endure. This is a story of a girl merely trying to survive the whispers that occupy her mind.
My name is Kriss Aviur, and this is my story.
Yes, it is true I am able to hear people’s thoughts.
Yes, it is true I want to escape the place I despise the most.
Yes, it is true I do not suffer.
I do not suffer.
I endure.
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Hii, my name is Neha, I am 17 and this piece of writing is set in a fantasy world and follows the story of a girl who can read people's thoughts. Kriss' power is a metaphor for having depression, so my extract talks about the way hearing people's thoughts affect her, as well as the way in which she deals with it. It is about how negative thoughts can consume one's head, and sometimes it can feel too much to bear. My inspiration for this piece was to show other people how powerful our thoughts can be, and to show people that millions of young people deal with depression. The aim of Queen of Whispers is raise awareness of importance of mental health.