Cry Of The Unheard Novels & Stories

The scream that ripped out of her was unrestrained, guttural, her body shuddering from the impact. The crowd stirred, unease breaking into the silence. Some of them looked on with grim satisfaction. Justice was being dealt with, the stain of betrayal burned out in front of them. Others shifted on their feet, unable to completely smother their discomfort at seeing one of their own reduced to this. Still, she tried to spit defiance, lips moving like she was going to curse us all. But her voice cracked before the words could form. By the ninth, she broke. No pretense, no mask. Just sobs muffled into the wood she was braced against, her body shaking with every shuddering breath.

As I pushed it open, the scene beyond stripped the breath from my lungs, the horror of it battering against my senses. Outside lay destruction incarnate, bodies cast unceremoniously across the ground, painted in hues of death echoing the unimaginable cost of defiance. Murdered in brutal forms, they became unwilling narrators of a tragedy still unfolding. My voice cracked under the weight of revelation, uttering the only words that made sense. "They were counting them."

Tears suddenly streamed down my face, swiftly crafting a salty river of hopelessness upon my cheeks. My hands, shaking like autumn leaves, grasped the sheets as if my life depended on it. “Sheets? What sheets? Where am I? That place? No! Please, no!” I silently cried. I did try to move my lips, but alas, they were numb as though afraid to open. Panic unbuttoned the buttons of the sheet that had been keeping my heart in check; now, without the sheet, it hammered itself right against the walls of my chest, ready to dig a hole.

Left with no choice, I tried to key in the password instead, but it had been changed as well. My crushing sense of defeat turned into rage, and I pounded the door. "I know you're inside, Harrison! Get out here!" I kept shouting until my throat was strained before the door finally opened ever so slightly. Harrison scowled at me, his gaze making it seem as if I were his mortal enemy. Keeping his voice down, he threatened me, "Are you crazy, Vivian? Must you insist on causing trouble for me? If you insist on keeping this up, we should just—"

She clenched her teeth as tears suddenly began to form a waterfall on her cheeks. "The force is…attracting more…and more! He is close! The village is…dying!" A suddenly agitated Amethyst silently said to herself, her trembling hands clutching at her stomach as she marched behind Liam. Her lips fell wide open immediately when her whole body fell numb upon seeing the whole village crowded over something or someone — her eyes did not clearly see. Every cry, every whisper and every muffled scream of hopelessness, all swam in Amethyst's ears — capturing the length and width at which everything thing sounded.

They burned, as if each one carried the weight of the humiliation I was feeling. I pressed my elbows together, burying my face in them, hoping to block out everything. But it didn’t work. Those awful words crept back into my mind like uninvited guests, taunting me mercilessly: Whore. Slut. Prostitute. Shameless homewrecker. Unwanted bitch. Useless bastard. Pretty c**t. Each word echoed, growing louder and sharper, until it felt like they were carving into my soul. And then, as I shook feverishly, I realized something that sent another jolt through me.

“Tell them what you said this morning, please.” “. . . It wasn’t me.” Celia’s story spilled out of her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Falling asleep in a fog, a headache that wouldn’t go away, an anger and craving for blood, and the face of a pale man as the silver burned her skin. And then the dream of the dead man over the holidays, pouring his blood out to the Master who had called him, a fog glowing in his dark eyes just before he fell to the ground, dead forever.

[June 2021. At the extreme depths of the Marina Trench, we detected a set of anomalies frequency. Initially thought to be the seismic vibration caused by whales, spectral analysis shows a structured pattern consistent with a type of language.] [January 2022. All decoding attempts failed. Researcher Daniel Lynch experienced an acute psychotic break while monitoring the signals. He pierced his eardrums with a pen. Before he died, he kept yelling, "They're hungry! They're hungry!"]

The sound that erupts from me is raw, unfiltered, and filled with a torrent of emotions that words alone cannot express. "AAAAHHHH!" The scream tears through my throat, carrying with it the weight of betrayal, hurt, and shattered dreams. It echoes off the walls, a desperate plea for answers and solace that can never truly be granted. The sound resonates, vibrating through every fiber of my being as if trying to purge the pain that threatens to consume me.

My parents are music professors, and their university is always hosting these music salons and exchange events. But they never took me. After I graduated from college, I was desperate to see what it was like, so I begged my mother for a visitor's pass. She was busy helping my sister Ella fill out an application for one of those concerts, and she cut me off cold: "Everyone attending is a top-tier musician. You can't even read sheet music—walking in there, you'd just stick out like a sore thumb." A few days later, I stood in the freezing wind, listening to the applause rolling out from the auditorium. My sister stood at center stage, performing alongside a bunch of renowned musicians. That nig