Thursday, March 21

Whispers (3)

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to speak with soft, hushed sounds, using the breath, lips, etc., but       with no vibration of the vocal cords.

If you missed out on the previous post, read it here

The sound of the light switch jerked he back to reality; why had he chosen to leave the lights on this particular night? She wondered as he found his way into her bed. Naked body as usual, but there was something else in his eyes; something she had never seen. Anger, hatred; it felt like he was holding her responsible for something.

She shut her eyes as he found his way inside her; first thrust, second and then third. The clock struck 1:00a.m and then she heard it. Voices, whispers; she remembered the inscription she had seen on that tree ‘when you hear the whispers of the dark night, you know the time has come’. Time for what exactly? She couldn’t tell as she was scared. Suddenly a flash and afterwards, silence.

She saw them gather, all dressed in black; weeping profusely at the graveyard. Women in black shades and old men with their walking sticks. There was serenity by the graveside as the priest commenced his sermon. ‘To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under the earth. A time to be born and a time to die…..’

The words of the priest drowned in her ears as she moved closer to take a look at the bodies; her shock was profound when she saw her lifeless body lying in the coffin alongside that of her father. What was happening? Why wasn’t anyone seeing her? The last thing she remembered was the escapade with her father in her room; then the whispers.

Why dont you Read  Whispers

Could this be the aftermath of the inscription? If it was, then why is her body lying lifeless on the ground? The only one deserving death as a punishment was her father, why was she also a victim? All these and many more were the thoughts that ran through her mind.

Where to begin she knew not as her soul wandered sheepishly through the woods; by now, her body and that of her father had been covered with dust. Suddenly she remembered the tree, that’s where all these originated from. She hoped to get answers from there….if there were any.



About Author

I’m Alara Karis, a writer and blogger who simply loves living each day at a time. Some call me a nerd, some call me a professor. But if you ask me, I’ll simply say I’m an artist who enjoys painting the world in words.


  1. OMG! Her father is cruel and why did she die na…the father should have died alone. What a world we live in ..Pls is there a continuation to this story?

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