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The Whispers

Milijah Loving

By Forrest LovingPublished 6 months ago 3 min read
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No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I stared out of my bedroom bay window. I know there are aliens out there and I know they arrived here two months ago. The wind carries their whispers.

The infestation started off slow at first. The first report was in Switzerland. Witnesses reported the wind feeling strange, almost like it was experienced. The wind gripped people. It changed them. The man that they chose with the aid of the wind, was sentenced to a plead of insanity. He attempted to set fire to a bank saying the corporations were evil and that money was a con made by the government. The courts broadcasted the trial. The man, whose name I could never remember, only showed bouts of humanity once and it was during this instance that the man’s own consciousness became present. He begged for help.

The second report was my father. He and my older sister went on their daily walk in the park. There were no reports of a breeze so they assumed that taking a stroll would be safe for the day. It would be the reminiscence of an old habit, but now it is just a tormented memory. My sister was the third. She didn’t go back after our father was taken from us, so it has been assumed that the infection has the ability to lay dormant in women. They were also sentenced to insanity and taken away.

“We are safe, you know.” My mother tapped my shoulder to get my attention as she signed to me. ASL was our usual form of communication nowadays without my father or sister here. My mother was born deaf and I took after her.

I sighed. “But not many people are.” Her dimples showed through her sad grimace. We both knew the truth. The ginger-haired woman standing in front of me longed for her husband and daughter. I know she was relieved that she had a child that she wouldn’t lose, yet I still felt the helplessness hidden within her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around me. A mother’s love. When I was younger, we would find the windiest of days to go outside. I remember when I was five she told me about the spirit of the wind.

“The wind is like you and me,” she started off. Her dimples showed brightly and caused her cinnamon-tinted skin to glow as she smiled. I took after her from the ginger hair and dimples, down to the skin. “The wind is forever inexperienced but it is always familiar. The wind is gentle when the breeze is soft. This is an act of kindness and love. The wind is always shown to give love, regardless of how that love is shown. That is the only thing that nature knows. Even harsh winds are showing love, even when destructive and dangerous. Still, the wind doesn’t know of experience.” She met my gaze as she signed. “Only familiarity.”

I remembered asking her how the wind was still loving when it was being destructive. She answered back that nature’s greatest love was itself. I didn’t understand what my mother meant at the time. Even now, at sixteen years of age, I barely understood. I only understood this one fact. I am an extension of her and she has always tried to protect me if it meant destroying something else.

The wind was screaming for help as it shattered the windows. The whispers of these creatures gripped her as much as they did their other unsuspecting victims. My mother’s chest rose and fell as she held me tightly, pulling me away from what was once the window of my home. We both knew that the power of these creatures was getting stronger and we both knew that every case that was reported was a case that went missing. I watched that first trial. I watched them take my father. I watched them take my sister. I knew my family was still there, stuck in their own mind and no one could hear their screams.

Sci Fi
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About the Creator

Forrest Loving

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