Finding My Voice Novels & Stories

Apollo says. Before I can reply, I am shoved back up to the mic and I am reminded of the thousands of people who have just been watching me having quiet conversations about losing my mind right in front of them when they should be raging out of their minds. I can't see their faces, but I know they must be confused. "I just found out some people are here that I didn't know were here and I..." I say into the mic. I don't like the way my real voice sounds in the mic. Not my singing voice, not my "are you ready to rock" voice.

Slowly, the voice became loud enough for me to hear it, and I wondered why it was so familiar. I didn’t have much time to think because I was battling with pain, as my bones cracked. I didn't know what was happening to me, but I knew that I had to endure it. I began to pray silently, that the voice should call me again, but unfortunately, I didn’t hear it. I knew I had to find the source of the voice because that was the only way I could fight through this weird happening and emerge victorious. I had noticed that the voice made me more strong and determined to break through this…. and I kept on hoping the voice came again “Megan!” The voice came again, this time louder than the first.

In a way that made me ache in places I didn’t have words for. The back of my throat burned like I’d swallowed fire, but I forced out a sound. A word. A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. "I’m here." My voice was a rasp. A tremor. But it was real. The moment I spoke, the chamber answered.

Hence, I do just this. “Hey! How did your day go today?” I smile at myself in the mirror, and yes, I can see that I am doing too much with the smile and the voice. I have crafted my voice too deeply to sound more bass, and that does not sound natural, and I have crafted my smile in a way that makes me look silly and not cute. Thus, I try again. “Hey! How did your day go today?” It still does not feel right, and I try again and again until suddenly I begin to hear a strange clicking sound approaching the restroom.

I look at him, I look at him and I know, I know it is him, that it is him who waited for me for six years, who looked for me for six years, who found me six months ago, who loves me, who will always love me, whatever happens, whatever I do, whatever I say, whatever I choose, and I tell him, in a voice that is nothing more than a breath, a voice that comes from somewhere within me I had never explored, a child's voice, a voice that is afraid, a voice that is hurting, a voice that hopes, a voice that believes, a voice that loves, a voice that tells the truth, the truth she waited twenty-four years for, she hoped twenty-four years for, she believed twenty-four years for, she doubted twenty-four

“Is anyone around?” I doubted that my voice got past the spot where I lay because it was so low that I couldn’t even hear myself. I pushed myself closer to the door and through a square bar below the door, I stuck my head out and spoke again, this time with more strength than before. “Is anyone here? Can I get some water please?”

he said all of these in one breath. “I……..uhm…..I” my voice kept breaking no matter how much I tried to sound confident. Well well well freedom is a tempting concept.

My voice came out sharper than I expected, my heart still racing from what I’d just found. A sharp voice on the other end of the line replied, “You and I have to talk.”

I just stood there, frozen, watching the life I thought I had built, shatter into a million pieces. Finally, I found my voice, though it was jagged and weak. “Jeff?”

I said, finding my voice, which sounded too weak. “A video of you surfaced yesterday, and since then, it has brought your image into question,” she said. Her voice was clear and firm, but her eyes were warm and pleading with me. It was too much. More than anything, I did not like pity or shame, and now I seemed to be getting enough of both.