The unheard Voice

Jan1st, 2013

I am not sure where I left last time; I ate the paper immediately after writing. It is the first day of a new year, but it is hard to tell old from new or new from old. I was fearful all day, averting the eyes of the neighbors, the kids. I can never tell what my eyes betray, what people think I am thinking even when I don’t say a word. Most of the times even I don’t know what I am thinking – my thoughts are sporadic, often blank or about the immediate, rarely vivid. Past is a mist right behind my shoulders but when I turn to look there is nothing, no one I recognize. A familiar face from a lifetime ago of a mother, or a father or a friend, or a brother flashes in my memory… but who it belongs to is hard to tell. Sometimes, the face belongs to everyone I have ever known.

It’s the mirror where the stranger lies – he stares me in the eyes every morning, asks me what to make of this life, if a defiant death would be a better predicament. But I am a coward, I look away.

The dark is approaching; I have to squint my eyes to write. Soon the Sun will turn its back completely and I will be able to heave a sigh of relief. Darkness is a friend; it shuts the eyes of the spies, of the fellow strugglers. Darkness is when tears can flow unabashed and unchallenged. Darkness is when I can embrace my sorrow of the life that is – if it can be called a life.

I will try to come tomorrow too. I have to go now.

Jan 29th, 2013

I am not sure where I left last time; I ate the paper immediately after writing. We live in the midst of strangers; who can be trusted save your own self? Even the children are taught strange things in school – or maybe I am the stranger. No, there is no maybe – I am a stranger. Trapped in the world I had come to fight against… living… or maybe breathing just.

A neighbor was looking at me suspiciously this morning when I was leaving for the mines to work. I just kept walking, didn’t stop to look at him or greet him. Is he from the secret police? But what did I do? Since I was freed from the concentration camp and given the status of a citizen from a POW, I have but kept my peace with the authorities, and the system. Married and with kids, I only seek to die at ease one day – is it a lot? Will I have a natural death or would I be hunted and dragged like a dog one day? BUT WHAT DID I DO???

I will try to come tomorrow, I have to go now.

Mar 3rd, 2013

I am not sure where I left last time; I ate the paper immediately after writing.

This is perhaps my last writing. People are getting suspicious, I see strangers prying into the household, and even my children try to follow me around. Have I voiced my yearnings in my sleep? Do people know? Or am I imagining the worst? I can’t be sure.

I tried to write a few times earlier, only to be intercepted by the inquiring eyes of my eldest son following me wherever I went.

But I had to write one last time, don’t know to whom, as I would destroy this paper as soon as I am done.

Maybe I write in the hope that someone up there is watching, listening what I don’t say, and understanding what I don’t express. Am I going insane?

I have to go now. Goodbye.


This is my second entry for Inspirational Monday for this week (and on the same day – I am on a roll! :D). I have used the prompt “Familiar Face” in this one.

You can read my first entry for InMon this week by clicking here.

This post is inspired by a book I am reading on North Korea – Nothing to Envy by Barbara Demick. We can’t even imagine the harsh reality of the people of that part of the world.

I look forward to constructive feedback about ways to improve, so do share your 2 cents if you stop by!

Inspirational Monday hosted by BeKindReWrite is a word-prompt challenge with no stringent word limit where various word prompts are given to choose from and spin a story around anytime before the next Monday. You have the creative freedom to use the prompt anyway you like. It is an enjoyable exercise and worth trying!

To check this week’s prompts and last week’s entries, please click here.

15 thoughts on “The unheard Voice

      1. Thanks.. It does sound better, will edit as soon as I get a chance.
        I wrote it as a secret journal of a prisoner of war who is now a citizen in North Korea.. But he is under constant surveillance.

        This is highly inspired by a book I am reading on N Korea – Nothing to Envy.

  1. Every word fascinates. I love the recurring beginning to each entry. I am left wondering if the author is actually in danger, or merely stuck in that frame of mind from having lived in the reality too long. Really, really cool piece.

Would love to hear what you have to say about this! :)

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