Queen of Whispers | Teen Ink

Queen of Whispers

May 20, 2023
By neha_basra BRONZE, London, Other
neha_basra BRONZE, London, Other
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

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.


The author's comments:

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.


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