Finding My Voice Novels & Stories

“We will fix this. The energy burst was strong but it should fade. How do you feel otherwise? Any other pain?” I tried to clear my throat. “My eyes are still blurry but improving. The voice is the worst part. It feels like he is always here now. Speaking through me. Sharing every sound.” Rhydian touched my hand. “Say something normal. Tell me about the meadow again. The one from your childhood. See if the voice changes with different words.” I focused hard. “The meadow had tall grass. I used to hide there and watch you train. It made me feel safe. Like I belonged somewhere.”

My voice sounded too quiet. I cleared my throat. "Good morning." Better. I frowned at myself. "Why does speaking feel like taking an exam?" Because you expect everyone to punish you for getting the answer wrong, a quiet voice inside me answered. I ignored it. I tried again. "Good morning." This time, I sounded almost normal. A tiny smile appeared on my face. That was something. I picked up my notebook and slipped it into my bag. Then I headed downstairs. --- Breakfast was quiet.

Hot and furious behind my eyes. And then something else moved through me. Something older than the pain. Something manic that had been living in my chest for thirteen years, surviving on nothing, waiting for a moment exactly like this one. Don’t give them this. Don’t give him this. You promised yourself something. Remember? You promised yourself something. I took one breath. Then I lifted my chin. And I spoke. My voice came out steady, strong, sounding like i was ready to take on the world. I don’t know how. To this day, I don’t know how I spoke so confidently. Clear, calm and quiet, the way the sky goes quiet before something serious happens.

And this funeral is a beacon that shouts, “I’m right here, fucking assholes!” I don’t find anyone and I begin to relax again when a voice I don’t recognize whispers in my ear, “Found you.”

My voice is buried somewhere deep inside me, lost beneath layers of fear and memories I don’t dare to touch. When I try, it’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, mouth open, but nothing comes out. I’ve forgotten what my voice even sounded like, and maybe that’s the worst part—losing a piece of myself I can never get back. And no one noticed. Not even him.

"KILLIAN‚ PLEASE! I'M HERE! I'M IN HERE! PLEASE COME FIND ME‚ PLEASE‚ I'M BEGGING YOU‚ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—" Silence. "Please‚" I whispered into my bleeding palms‚ my voice gone‚ destroyed‚ barely there. "Please... someone... anyone... please find me... please..."

Mac looks at me confused, but turns up the volume a bit anyway. “Hello?” someone, a boy, says on the radio. There is someone there? Does anyone hear me? My air trails off, my heart stops beating, tones roll off my face, and an unusual but natural sensation sits comfortably on my chest. I am aware of that voice! My fingers tremble as I scramble to pull the amp out of the radio, somehow figuring out which button to push before I speak. "S-Melido?" My voice trembles too, I do everything.

I looked everywhere a d tried hard to find something. I heard voice coming out from the deepest Forest. It was hauling of azalaic. I want to found him. " AZALAIC WHERE ARE YOU I'M COMING."

"If you send me to a voicemail again, or answer with that tone in your voice, I will find a way to make sure they don't find you quickly. Do you understand me?" The whiskey turned to cold water in my stomach. I sat down on the barstool slowly. "Yes," I said. My voice came out even. I had learned, in the months since my life had collapsed into this, how to keep my voice even when everything else was shaking. "I understand." I added soberly. "Good." His tone warmed up. "Now. Tell me how it went." I pressed my free hand flat against my thigh and gathered everything back together in my mind, sorting for what was still usable, discarding what wasn't.

commented a voice beyond the cell. It was the first time I heard any sound other than avid steps and my own muffled arches. Emotion grew in me, and without realizing it, I was already standing on one of my legs and dragging me close to the light. “ Hello? "I called it softly. I didn't think about the possibility that talking with a burnt throat in violence could resemble so much the displeasure of ingesting broken glass. I scratched my throat and sought a deep breath. "Is there anyone here?