The Voice

Victoria Fuhrmann

by Victoria Fuhrmann

Story

It’s back again. The dream. The one that won’t let me sleep at night, the one that haunts me, that makes me doubt my connection to reality. Dark shapes creeping through the night. Fire, fire everywhere and a loud shattering scream that calls my Name but falls silent again just as fast. All followed by a bright white light, a light that makes me feel safe, a light that makes me feel protected, a light that dries my tears and promises to protect me from all evil. I know I sound crazy, but this recurring dream doesn’t feel like a randomly selected nightmare but rather like a lost memory growing stronger. My therapist calls these dreams the “false memory Syndrom”, suggesting I suffered physical abuse or violence as a child, leading to me seemingly remembering events that never actually occurred. It’s not as if I could argue against it. I don’t remember anything from my childhood. The social workers from the home I lived in found me on their doorstep one night with nothing but a name. Accordingly, I have nothing from my earlier life that could even begin to hint at my origins. However, they also didn’t make any effort to find out the slightest about my history. The day I was found turned to my official date of birth plus the 5 years the doctor claimed I was already old. The only kindnesses we orphans experienced were three meals a day and the opportunity to expand our education at the Greenfield public school around the corner. Whether we would return at the end of the day or not didn’t matter to the wardens. From their point of view, it was simply one less mouth to feed.

I felt alone, misplaced like a delicate flower within a hedge of thorns, all waiting for me to make the slightest move and prick me. I was neither popular nor unpopular at school, I tried to stay under the radar as much as possible and not stand out. I have always been quite a loner, enjoying the silence that came with the breaks which I spent far away from all my classmates at the athletics tracks. After all, I shared a room with three other girls at the Orphanage. To get even a minute’s peace and quiet was borderline close to a miracle.

This year was going to offer many new beginnings for me. My high school graduation is approaching as well as my 18th birthday tomorrow. Of course, like every year, I expected nothing more than forced congratulations from my roommates and an extra dessert for dinner. However, every year it reminds me of how lonely I actually am and what price I would be willing to pay to have a home of my own surrounded by people that love me unconditionally. Every time this thought crosses my mind, I try to erase it from my memory as fast as possible. I don’t allow myself to show any form of vulnerability. To show vulnerability meant showing weakness and being weak meant social suicide at Greenfield School. I prefer to lie low and not be noticed. Which actually gets quite difficult when the voice that already haunts me in my dreams now exerts its presence during the day. I preferred not to tell the school psychologist I had to meet up with once a week either about the latest events. She would simply declare me crazy and put me on medication like she had done with dozens of other kids. I prefer to deal with everything on my own. However, the voice is becoming more and more present every day and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend it doesn’t exist. Am I going crazy after all, or is it actually trying to tell me something?

© Victoria Fuhrmann 2024-08-14

Genres
Science Fiction & Fantasy