Rapt audience

I jerked awake to The Voice, that horrid Voice that over the days? weeks? dominated my existence.

“Go-o-d can’t hear you!” the Voice said with that dry, nasty chuckle. I had come to know it as the bane of my existence and the source of my deepest terrors.

I was sure that The Voice was the Devil himself or an understudy who had a particular penchant for the most sublime of tortures. I could only hope that The Voice wasn’t talking to me.

I strained my ears, listening for any clue as to what horror the next moment might bring. I couldn’t see and hadn’t been able to since my arrival. On that day, I’d tried to blink and realized that they’d taken my eyes.

I couldn’t move. My hands were bound to my sides on some sort of contraption that left me in an almost crucified position. Immobile and blind, all I had was my hearing and my knowledge of what that Voice could bring.

The heavy footsteps echoed in their hollow fashion as The Voice walked away. My sigh was loud, but the quiet sobs from elsewhere were louder.

View this story's 7 comments.