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Speak A Little Louder


SPEAK A LITTLE LOUDER
By C.C Hazel
1
The lovers still loved. The birds still chirped. The sun still spun on its axis and
continued to orbit the sun. The stars and galaxies continued to twinkle brightly in the
night sky. It seemed nothing and no one cared that her, Maria-Morgan’s, life had
ended.
She had her head turned to the window. All she could see was the tops of trees and the
oblivious blue sky. The birds which were making an awful nerve wrecking racket in
the trees could not be seen, very well camouflaged by the leaves. She looked at the
table beside the bed. There, on it, against the fruit basket aunt Mavis had brought, was
propped the picture of the blessed virgin mother.
Causing herself a lot of pain she reached out and knocked it off the table. How could
her mother have brought that stupid picture? How was a drawing, a mass produced
drawing, of some stupid bitch that died eons ago meant to help her? Where the hell
was the blessed virgin when she was being attacked? Where?
She could barely remember the attack. But her mind had somehow recalled, in
startling clarity, the emotions attached to it. Pain, fear, helplessness and hopelessness.
All amplified and magnified in the strange frightening dreams which she could never
remember clearly on waking.
She looked outside the window. Why did she keep looking? The view had not
changed the whole week she had been looking at it. She would have to remember to
ask the nurse to draw the blinds. God this place was so boring, she thought. “Ha!
God!”, she said out loud with a snigger. Tears began pouring out and she wiped them
away using the sheet.
The sound of the door opening, like most unexpected everyday sounds did now, made
her start. It was her parents, Bianca and George. Unfortunately when she started she
turned towards the door and so could not feign sleeping. How she would have loved
that than having to listen to these two prattle on endlessly about things and people
which meant nothing to her.
“MM! You are awake. Thank Goodness,’ Bianca said rushing to her daughter’s side,
„how are you baby? It’s just that most of the time we find you asleep! What great
good luck!” she kissed Maria-Morgan as George did in turn. Bianca picked up and
replaced the picture.
“How are you doing darling?” they asked in unison.
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