Voices

• Karina Abrahams, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2017

Silence is suffocating.
First it stops your voice. Then it stops your heart. Finally, it becomes too much and everything stops while the world goes on.
I’ve seen this happen to many good people that came here, thinking things would be better in this place of promised hope. No one expects to find a house of stifled voices, and it’s always too late when they realise. I’ve never seen anyone leave, except with lilies. I plan to leave with birds of paradise.
We’ve always been forbidden to look out the window, but we all sneak glances at freedom every now and then, hoping someone outside will see us. Instead we’re forced to stay quiet. Don’t talk to the others, don’t talk to the outsiders, and don’t talk to Mr Turnkey. When we try to speak, all we hear is silence.
We sit, staring at the portions they try to make us eat. I don’t eat. I almost never do. I glare at Mr Turnkey until he lets us go. Only to our rooms though. I go to my room, but a lack of activities always means a lack of mental occupation. It is never wise to leave people with nothing to do. I have nothing to do, so I plan. I have to find a way to get past Mr Turnkey. Then the speaker comes blaring on, a jarring sound in a prison of silence. “Tomorrow we have visitors. Don’t talk.”
The discordant voice has given the answer to my problems.
I begin to vigorously plan my escape. We’re not always told not to talk to visitors. Some visitors we intuitively avoid, we know they’re happy with our silence. We’re only told not to talk to those who want to find voices. I have to talk to the visitors. I have to find my voice.
The day has finally come. The visitors are arriving, and Mr Turnkey appears irked. It is never good for us when he is like this, but today, it is the perfect omen. Visitors like this are never allowed to tour the house, so I have to go to them. I begin to sneak around to the reception, until I see it. A guard. It was all going according to plan until this. I have to find a way past it. I backtrack to try to find the answer. I didn’t plan for this, but now it seems obvious to me that they would have a guard. I turn the final corner to the rooms, and then I realise the answer. I have to try and find lost voices. I scream. Someone comes out, then another, then another. Apparently screams are universal. I point at each of them, screaming as I do so. After a little pointing and a lot of screaming, they understand. We all run screaming through the house, a cacophony of cries. It serves two purposes, to return voices and as a distraction. I rush into the reception, screaming. It secures the attention of all in the room, especially the visitors. Now I can tell them my story. Now I can speak.