Cry Of The Unheard Novels & Stories

The kind that only comes from someone who knows he’s about to die and still has hope he might not. But Dante’s out there. That hope is fucking useless. But the sounds won’t stop. There’s a sharp, wet sound next. Like someone throwing a raw steak on the ground—only heavier. Thicker. Then the crunch. Fuck, that crunch. It’s not a sound bones are supposed to make. Not like that. It sounds like someone stepping on a bag of chips filled with marrow and regret. The cracking. The muffled gurgles. The yelling. Then begging.

There’s only the gnawing emptiness, the cold that presses in from all sides, the relentless hunger that eats away at me—not just my body, but my very soul. Then, it comes—the sound. The faintest cry, distant at first, like the wind brushing against the stones. But then, it grows louder. High-pitched. Childlike. Desperate. A voice begging. “Please—don’t take my sister—please—she’s only seven—!” Another scream follows, the same desperation, the same helplessness. “No—don’t close the door! Mama said she'd come back! Mama—!” I clap my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the cries that are not my own, but they don’t stop.

His fist delivered words he couldn’t find. My vision blurred, and a ringing sound filled my ears. I tried to free myself—to fight back—but the ropes didn’t permit me—holding me like a prisoner. And when the pain became unbearable, laughter erupted from deep within me. A harsh guttural that echoed off the walls. The walls had heard my cries and laughter many times, but this sound—so raw and jagged, uncontrollable, and bitter—never had it heard.

If I had stayed on the farm, none of this would have happened. Now, here I was, locked in a dark dungeon, in an unknown world, feeling utterly alone and defeated. The cold, stone walls seemed to close in on me, making the despair even more overwhelming. I wrapped my arms around my knees, feeling the chill seep through my jeans. Every sob felt like it echoed off the walls, making it sound even louder.

he weakly uttered as he sniffled softly. Kelvin pulled the birthday boy into a hug. "You're welcome. You're happy, right?" Kinsley nodded vigorously in response. "Good." The older boy chuckled. From a distance, by one of the windows of the school building, someone is gritting his teeth. "Tsk. He's too happy and crying over an effing phone,” he muttered. * * * "The great deaf is here!" One young werewolf announced as Kinsley entered a large room for the monthly meeting of the aspiring hunters, trackers, and warriors, even healers of the pack. The pack members in this group are ages twelve to seventeen, who will soon be given their rank.

she asked. He didn’t respond. He was listening. Raul looked up from the soup. He heard it also, as did Anne now. She sensed an unusual change in the cave’s air. Penetrating the cave’s silence, even through the wind outside, was a rhythmic, disquieting crunch, crunch, crunch.

He switched on the recorder clipped to his chest. "Jerry, do you admit to colluding with foreign spies?" I spat blood and saliva straight into his face. "That's a baseless accusation!" Fighting through the pain, I struggled against the restraints. "I've always acted with integrity. This is a forced confession under torture!" With a cold laugh, Brandon switched off the recorder and twisted the dagger cruelly in my wound. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Only after living this life again did I truly see Mary for who she was.

"The wind—it's getting dangerous!" "I just know," Kael whispered as he watched the wind accelerate into a screaming vortex. He could hear her cries shift from sobs to a loud, agonizing scream that ripped through the air, echoing off the cliffs. The sound was visceral, filled with years of loneliness, hatred, and a grief so heavy that he felt it too.

I threw my head back and I howled like I’d never howled before. A raw, unfiltered cry tore from my soul. At first, the sound was small, strangled, barely a whisper against the wind. But then it grew—raw, aching, a cry of grief and longing that tore through the night. It wasn’t just a howl. It was a confession. A surrender. I howled for my family, for my pack, for her. For everything I had lost and everything I would never have. The sound echoed into the night, swallowed by the wind and snow, as I laid my soul bare under the watchful gaze of the moon.