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The Spoken

A Gothic Story

By Annie KapurPublished 5 years ago 3 min read

I stared into the abyss as I watched the incoherent muttering from afar. The moving of mouths. I began to wonder what it would be like if we, as humans, couldn't speak at all. How would we communicate? Express hatred? Express love? Express fear? The muttering rang in my head to the questions. I would come to find that this wasn't just another one of my crazy, delirious epiphany-like fantasies. No. It was much more. Well, much more since the new girl arrived.

Yes. It was this. The new girl spoke on and on. Day by day. Never once was she silent. Gossiping loudly. I sat across the room from her, but could still hear her annoying, irritating vocal chords screeching and cackling with witch-like laughter, as she grinned indecently when discussing her failing love-life trivia that I could go without knowing.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I chose her to be my first volunteer.

One night, at around 9:30 PM, I walked to her house, and upon knowing she was asleep, I knocked at the door. This is so that she would already be hazed before we began the process. Now, before I go on I need to say that I never gave this woman a reason to hate me. We were 'content' with each other's existence. Some more content than others.

She opened the door with a 'yes' in that annoying voice. I tried to ignore the sound, 'I'm sorry, could I stay the night? My car has broke down and nobody is available to fix it until tomorrow. Since you are the only person I know in this area I was thinking maybe you could help me?’ She smiled and let me in. Step one was complete.

We sat at her coffee table in the living room having a drink. As she turned around to refill my glass, I slipped an anaesthetic chemical into hers. A few minutes later she was completely under, and I began taking out some pliers and a sewing kit.

I first needed to remove the larynx. The voice box. It was a fiddly procedure. What with all the blood and flesh, ripping and pulling. I twisted the pliers carefully, holding the muscle in between them. The flesh dangled from the pliers in a fashion that looked more like a surgical operation than anything else. It was intense. The red gushes of blood coughing up from her as I twisted and pulled the pliers in order to remove what I had to. I chose to rip rather than cut. It was a slower thing. Tearing each individual piece of muscly flesh and watching blood gush out slowly, then quickly. The red, thick juice poured out of a small incision I had left after I removed her vocals. I savoured this moment of ripping the voice box from the lower throat knowing that she would never speak, never laugh and never scream again.

Putting the voice box on the table, her throat was gagging up bits of flesh and blood. I got the sewing stuff ready and polished the needle. She woke screaming, but there was no sound. Perfect. Just bliss. No sound. Nothing. Just coughs of muscly flesh being spewed out on to a very expensive living room floor.

I held her down and began to pierce her lips in many places. I took out the needle and with wire instead of string, wired her mouth shut. Tightly. Blood dripped out of the spaces in between the seams with throat flesh managing to poke through, but not escape. She couldn't breathe so she swallowed the flesh back into her throat. Her face bled and everything that was under her nose was a blur of flesh and blood for me. There was no sound. No, not anymore. And that was all I wanted. Was it?

I left her house that night with her still bleeding on the floor. I took the larynx with my as a seeming 'parting gift' of my achievement.

Reader, I am now on my way home, but parked at the side of the main road where she lives still. I have realised that it wasn't her voice that was annoying. It was the fact that whenever she spoke, people listened. I am invisible. Nobody listens when I speak. It was an act out of pure jealousy and I know that now. It had something to do with her voice though. Well, it didn't look so painful when I did it to her. And it's just going to be a quick swap. Isn't it?


About the Creator

Annie Kapur

195K+ Reads on Vocal.

English Lecturer

🎓Literature & Writing (B.A)

🎓Film & Writing (M.A)

🎓Secondary English Education (PgDipEd) (QTS)

📍Birmingham, UK

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