The Screamer

In Fiction on May 14, 2012 at 2:20 pm

One of several versions of the painting "...

The museum filled the sky behind me like some giant bird of prey, swooping down to snap at me with its stony beak, to shred me with its marble talons. I turned, startled, to find it standing still, entombed in shadows.

How securely entombed? I wondered. How completely dead?

I heard someone yell, a voice echoing from behind the columns, and I stumbled away lest the bird should suddenly awake.

In the park across the way the gray had leeched out of the water, onto the grass and up the trees – a symptom of the waning daylight. The geese were folded up, the flowers shuttered for the night. Clouds hung fat in the sky, lit from below by vicious oranges and reds.

Again I heard the voice call to me from across the road.

They know I’ve gotten loose, I thought, and I quickened my pace.

The realization of who you are – what you are – can destroy you, body and mind, if circumstances are right. When I reached the benches I realized I had no legs, so I collapsed. Looking out over the lake I saw the burning clouds descend and set the water alight, and I realized my eyes could not see.

The voice shouted to me once more, from without and within, and suddenly I realized I had no voice — so I screamed.


This is the fifth and final post in the series of writing challenges that I’m calling Stolen Identities Week. This one is by far the most abstract of the bunch, and maybe one of the more abstract pieces I’ve done, but hopefully I’ve carried it off at least somewhat competently.

Leave your feedback below and be sure to check out the others if you’re in the mood for something a little more grounded!

  1. Haunting! I especially loved the last line ” I realized I had no voice — so I screamed.” It makes me feel sorry for this person and at the same time I want to run away from him (because I imagine someone screaming without a voice would have to be a bloodcurdling sight).

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