She was a girl of about seventeen years. She had long black hair, which seemed brown under the sunlight, and amazing eyes which changed depending on her mood. They looked plain at first glance, but when you stared into them, you would notice hints of ember and gold within the brown, swirling in the recesses of her eyes.

But take another look, a much closer one, and you would realize that her eyes were actually dead. The flecks of ember and gold were stagnant. They contained no emotion, nothing. Her face had sunken in, her skin pale due to the lack of sunlight. She had shut everything out.

She could remember that day, every single detail. But it was not surprising, as the scene replayed itself, like a spoilt video player. She watched it in slow motion, taking in the look of extreme hatred directed at her, just before his body had gone rigid a split second before turning limp. With a loud thump, his body hit the floor, and lay there spread eagled, his chest moving up and down, breaths erratic. She listened to the rasp of his voice as he tried to call for help, then the scream from her mother.

She remembered sliding down the cupboard, legs unable to support her body weight, as the scene unfolded before her eyes. She watched her mother panic, looking for the phone although it was just before her. She tried to tell her mother, her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

All of a sudden, the scene was silent, as if someone had pressed the mute button. She saw her mother finally locate the phone, and punch in 911, her body trembling. Then, she heard the clatter of the phone dropping onto the floor, breaking the silence she was accustomed to.

Minutes later, the wail of the siren broke through the still night air, increasing in volume as it approached. She heard the footsteps of the paramedics as they rushed towards her father, a stretcher in tow. They lifted his comatose body onto the stretcher and rushed out of the house. There were several slams as they shut the various doors of the ambulance, then the squeal of tires as the ambulance sped off, leaving the acrid smell of burnt rubber behind.

All this, she watched, not moving a muscle. As the sound of the sirens faded, it seemed to break her reverie. She blinked, got up slowly, went into her room and closed the door. No one attempted to speak to her.

It was two days later when she first heard The Voices. The Voices she heard everywhere. Voices only she could hear. Voices that told her that it was her fault, her fault alone, which had caused her father’s death. Voices that told her she ought to be punished. The Voices continually tormented her.

It wasn’t her fault.

But she did not know that.

All she knew was that her father had directed a look of absolute hatred at her, just before he had fainted.

She retreated into her shell. She refused to talk, refused to listen. The softer voices had tried their best to be heard, but they were nothing more than a slight breeze which brushed her cheek every now and then.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

On and on, The Voices kept drilling into her. It was her fault, she ought to be punished. She could hear nothing but those voices. The softer voices tried to speak up, but they could not find the right words.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

The Voices refused to let go of her. The softer voices tried, yet again, to fight The Voices, tried to loosen their grip so they could be heard, but they had failed. It had been a vicious fight, but still, the softer voices had lost.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices

The Voices eventually drove her into a corner. A corner she could not back out of. The Voices had convinced her to take her life, as she had taken another. The Voices had driven her over the edge, and over the edge she fell.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

It could have been a painless death, but The Voices would not let that happen. “You must suffer in order to repay the debt properly” they had whispered.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

When they found her body, even the strong at heart could not take it. She had mutilated herself. There were slashes all over her body. Words had been carved on her abdomen. ”My debt has been paid.” Her hair had been sliced off, along with her scalp.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

Her limbs had been partially skinned, but the blood had stained her skin red. But that had not killed her. What had killed her was the knife which pierced straight through her heart.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

She had not been the cause of her father’s death, for he was not dead, but rather, in a coma. However, he had been the cause of her gruesome death.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

The sound of The Voices celebrating their victory was bloodcurdling. They lifted their sinister voices, weaving their solo tunes into an unearthly anthem. Those who heard it shuddered, the hairs on the back of their neck rigid, wondering where that eerie noise came from.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

For they had been trying to tell her, all along, that her father was not dead.

Oh, if only she had listened to the softer voices.

They grieve for her now, their voices lifting in a mournful melody. For these voices had been of those who had loved her, but were unable to save her from The Voices, even though they had tried. Although they had tried their hardest, they had been unable to provide comforting words, reassurance that it was not her fault, and most of all, love.