Cry Of The Unheard Novels & Stories

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.

On the first day of orientation, Bella went around telling everyone that she could read my mind and hear my thoughts. When a classmate was chewed out for accidentally moving the wrong way during drills, she sternly pointed at me and said, "Why are you mocking her, thinking that she's uncoordinated and that she's dragging the whole team down? Everyone makes mistakes, so what gives you the right to ridicule her?" When the instructor was addressing the whole group, she stepped out of formation and confronted me again. "How could you think that the instructor is rigid and old-fashioned, and that all he does is torture students? Do you have any discipline or respect?" The instructor flew into

Heaving a sigh, she sat down in a chair with a thump. Then she heard the distant sound of a scream, causing her to fall backwards out of her seat. Ignoring the pain of the arm she had fallen on, she jumped to her feet and pressed her ear against the door. The voice sounded eerily familiar, yet she had no idea who it was. The cry wasn't like the ones you heard when children were playing though; it sounded like suffering, like infinite pain. When she heard nothing else and the screaming had stopped, Arder drummed against the door repeatedly. Despite her throbbing hands, no one opened it. She stayed locked in the room, pounding on the wood until her hands were in pure agony. She sank down onto

My boyfriend, Marcus Reid, had hearing loss, so he often couldn’t make out what I said. I asked him to buy a skincare set, but he came home with two. "I must have heard you wrong again. I'll just give the extra one to Lauren." I asked him to buy a chocolate cake, but he came home with vanilla. "I heard you wrong. Lauren likes this flavor, l'll just give it to her." Later, I carefully designed our future home and asked him to buy a house for us in Southville. But on the day we were supposed to inspect the house, he drove us all the way to Northville instead. When he noticed that I hadn't said a word the entire time, he apologized, "I'm really sorry. I didn't hear you clearly. I thought you li

For the sound of their small voices crying for help that never came. I scream for Clinton. For the knife. For the blood. For the way his eyes went dim while I stood there and watched. I scream for my pack. For my family. For the fire that took them and the man who laughed while it burned. I scream for myself. For the girl I used to be. For the woman I've become. For all the parts of me that have died along the way. The water is still hot. The steam is thick. My throat is raw.

Chloe Brooks wrinkled her nose at the smell of my burned foot—it was just too much for her. Thomas Wells had his servants toss me right out of the doors. I slumped against the wall, shivering from the pain. In the background, the TV in the living room droned on about a nasty typhoon hitting us tonight. There I was, in just a light jacket, in the dead of winter. I banged on the window, crying out, "Thomas, please! Let me in! The typhoon's coming, and I'll die out here!"

But the noise wasn't coming from around her — the noise was coming from deep inside her ear. It a mixture of different unpleasant noises — battle cries and the noises of warriors going against each other, the clashes of swords, the bone–cracking and shifting of wolves, the growling and howling, and then the sound of wolves tearing apart each other and the pained screams from those that are injured. She heard the frightful screams of women and children and innocent blood being shed, innocent lives being destroyed, properties, houses and buildings being set ablaze.

“Don’t you have any dignity?” My heart dropped. I knew that voice. I knew it far too well. I tried to step back, to say something, anything, but my body refused to respond. My limbs felt weighed down, as if I was sinking into the ground. I struggled, but the more I tried to move, the heavier I became. Then I heard it. A child crying. The sound was faint at first, almost like an echo, but within seconds it grew louder, more desperate. The cry pierced straight through my chest, filling me with a sense of fear and grief I couldn’t explain.