Voice - 1

In my family, sometimes we would have members leaving temporarily; for instance, my father's business trip, my mom's holiday trip with her friends. I felt that its always more comfortable to have 4 members together, even the atmosphere would be lighter. When I have a school trip, my mother and sister could only feel an existence of empty air on places where I supposely belong. I think, when such happens, they must felt the emptiness as I do; even when the absence of a single member of the family for merely a few days. When that person return from their trip, our home would return to the state where we are used to; that house which barely fit 4 peoples, where I would trip over sis's feet whenever I pass in front of the television. That stuffy, yet easy home.

We have a light in front of our porchment. It is always on whoever of us goes out at night; an unwritten rule states that whoever came home last turns it off, until one day my mom said that she'll leave that light on until sis comes home and she will turn it off.

The porch lights still burns today, night and day. Just inside the front door, a strip of tape covers the switch.

My sister never came back.


Not long ago, we are a family of four. But now, my sister had leaved us eternally. Now, there's always an empty chair on our dining table.

Why my sister is killed? No one knows the answer, but 2 weeks ago, my sister Iva died. 12 hours later from she's last seen, she was found in an empty hospital premise.

I had never enter the ruin, but since my sister died. Once, only once I gazed the building afar. Besides a few strands of grass, nothing was there, a cold place; small chips of stone would rise with the wind over the gravy ground, shoes would be tainted greyish white. The hospital itself was a dimentional, square block of building, looks like the remaining shell of an unknown from its metamorphosis. All the glass panels of the windows are broken, it was pitch black inside. Not long ago, someone discovered my sister's body inside, thats why the entrance was sealed off by tapes, policemen would bend over the tapes to pass in and out the building.

I've heard that my sister was found by 3 primary school kids in the furthest room inside. Although nothing had been disclosed by the police, it is said to be an operating theater.

It is said that her body is damaged to a very large extend, it even rendered identification impossible. There's a handbag not far from her body, police managed to contact us from her belongings inside. It was mom who picked up the phone, a day after my sister went out at noon, she thought it was a prank.

However, it was my sister, even if it wasn't identified by my parents and my sister's boyfriend, but from what they found in the handbag, as well as cononer's report, sufficiently proves everything.

...The police never reveal the state of my sister's body, nor they reveal how she was killed. In our everyday life, cases where killing via knife wound or strangulation happens commonly. Even where knife wound and strangulation would be considered horrendous by most people and covered by the media. But my sister doesn't seemed to be killed as simple as a stab or strangle.

They opined that if my sister's sufferings were exposed, it would bring a negative image to the society, thats why they refuse to reveal anything. Even the 3 school boys refused to say anything.

My parents begged the police and doctors for letting them to see my sister's body, but they were refused, because my sister's body could never return it her original state, they couldn't manage to let them see the remains.

My mom and dad, aren't really selective to my sister, just like other common parent and child, they would argue over a minute television ad, scoldings for forgetting where the newspaper is; my parents never really praise her in front of others. But when I heard their cries and sobbings upon hearing my sister's death, it was only then I realised how much investment and effort that my parents spent in raising her.

"Please, let us see Iva!"

My father begged desperately for the doctors and police's approval. His face turned red, as though as he is in much anger. Looking at my father's uncompromised expression, they lead my father and mother to the room which my sister is placed.

I looked dully to their back, further away from the large rectangular swing door, watching them dissapear. I'm scared, I am so afraid that I couldn't manage myself to see my sister in that room.

I've heard conversation between an officer and a police, they must not have notice me on the corner.

"Gosh, it was so tedious piercing together the pieces and fragments..."

The policeman said. I almost fell on the ground upon hearing this, my shoes made a loud screech on the hospital floor. That police found me while turning his back, he seemed surprised, having an unnatural expression, he shut his lips tight.

Piercing my sister together... I stood motionless on the ground, pondering the meaning of what he had said.

Not long after, dad and mom came out from the room where my sister is kept. Immediately and anxiously, I asked them: What happened to my sister? They just acted as if they heard nothing, treated me in total disregard. My parents would cry and sob before entering the room before this; they stopped their tears after steping out the room. They wouldn't want to look into anyone's eyes, so they just lowered their head, remained in silence. It was as if dad and mom's emotion had left in the room; the radiance on their face is dull and unlively, just like two pieces of inanimate mask.

The police said nothing about my sister's body, everything is kept in confidential to the public. Maybe its because of this, not long after the body was found, people forgets about this incident.

Now, 2 weeks after my sister's death, police and the media wouldn't come to my house anymore.


My sister is older than me for 2 years, only 20 when she died. There are only two siblings in our family, it can be said that I grown up looking on my sister's face.

When I am still a fifth grader, sister already wearing a secondary school uniform, one which I had never seen before. When I am on my second year in secondary school, my sister would always tell me about high school which I knew nothing of. I would always see what I would received 2 years later in life from her; to me, my sister was a guiding flagship on dark, and unknown ocean.

Even though, she was older than me for two years, but our height are similar. Because of this, alot of people said that we looked remarkably resemble to each other. I remembered when I am in primary school, whenever we visit a relative in New Year, everyone would say so.

"I don't think so, there aren't such thing, isn't it?"

My sister said to me upon noticing my relative's expression. To us, we seen each other every single day, look at that face which differs from our own. Where do you look alike? I'm often troubled by this. It happened at a time where my sister is playing with other childrens in another room, my aunt who just passed by exclaimed, "God, aren't you just in that room!"

I am particularly close to my sister in my youth, we often play together. Sometimes, sister would even bring me to her friend's home where they are older than me for 2 years to play.

...I wondered since when our relationship begins to change? I couldn't remember the last time where I chatted happily with my sister.

Few years ago, my sister and I marked a gap suddenly, without apparent reason. It wasn't the kind of gap that people would notice, or maybe it shouldn't be said as a gap. It was just that, when she speaks to me, her face had a gleam of displeasure.

Once, when I was sitting on the sofa at the living room, I pointed an article in a magazine to my sister: "Look! this is interesting." I just said this, and she had a glance of displeasure to the magazine, and walked away after leaving a cold, "Oh." Maybe I worried too much! But at the time, my sister's attitude and her expression gave me a hint of frustration.

Maybe she aren't happy at the time, or maybe she was busy, I said to myself. I tried to convince myself that my sister only acted this of some minute displeasure.

Even if I worried too much, my sister's displeasure over me isn't one that is abnormal.

Once, when I return hom from school, I saw my sister having a joyous conversation with her friends. Speaking happily over the cordless phone, accompanied by laughter. Not to disrupt her, I sat at the sofa lightly, lowered the volume of the television, watching the programme alone.

Not long after, my sister finished her conversation, the whole house turned quiet suddenly. We sat opposite of each other, watching the TV without uttering a word. I intended to start a topic with my sister, but I hesitated, this discomforting atmosphere is brought by my sister. She seemed so happy when she just made the call, but said nothing when it left the two of us. The broke the warm, comforting atmosphere and erected an invisible wall, keeping a distance to me.

Finally, I moved closer to my sister, intending to initiate a conversation, but she just rejected me with a detesting gesture. Her reply are comparitively short, whenever she spoke to me, but it was different when she speak to mom. Such, I noticably felt that she had the intention to cut short of our conversation.

I don't know when it turns out as such, I'm afraid, it just progress till a state where I could felt her hostility towards me even before she said anything , to the point I couldn't stay around her. Till, whenever I pass by my sister, or being alone together with her in a room, I would feel nervous. My body were stiff at such occasion.

"Erin, don't you wear that shirt anymore."

That was 6 months ago, just when I am heading to the bookstore for some revision books, she pointed my shirt and said. What she pointed at, was a white sweater, I like this shirt very much for a long time. Upon close inspection, the wooly sweater had alot of tiny furballs, some of the threads are broken.

"But, I liked this shirt alot!"

My sister wasn't please with my answer.

"Oh, that is so..."

She acted as if she doesn't care about me, tilting her head aside. I stood numbly at the site, all of the sudden, I felt as if all the glories of the world had dissapeared.

Maybe they are correct in saying that both of us looked alike. But our interest and personality marked a stark constrast.

My sister was a very charming person, she smiled often, even after she had a boyfriend, admirers would gather around her, there are friends who make her a phonecall every day. She was outgoing, her interest was wide, she is seldom seen sitting at home, alone. In my eyes, sister was ever dazzling.

In opposite, I am a bookworm. I would spend my day on my desk in the recent, people in my house could only listen to the snappings of my pencil on revision, even when I am free, I would only spend my time reading historical novels. Ever since my sister entered secondary school, she would travel to places I am not familiar of, going with people I do not know of. I would only go out when pushed by my sister, I spend most of my time reading at home. These changes seemed so natural to me, but, I still love my happy, charming, sister.

My sister is a genteel person, she never voice her displeasure of me, nor she ever said anything along the line of hating me, even in some circumstances, she tried to conceal her displeasure from me. Because of this, even I stay with her everyday, I never experience her psychological changes.

Maybe, sister never like me as I imagined...

I would never find an answer to this conclusion, but beyond this, I couldn't find any other answer.

I never took the opportunity to ask my sister, not even a single sentence. But, everything is in vain. Why wouldn't I take the courage to ask her when she's alive? Maybe the answer she give would be discouraging. But its far better than sulking now.

Now, I have lost the chance to ask my sister. I could only carry my thoughts and troubles, missing my sister painfully.

In this home without sister, it felt like a night where you would never meet sunrise, it was so quiet. Totally different from what we have 2 weeks ago.

Since my parents looked at sister's body, they speak lesser and lesser, without any expression on their face. They spend more time sitting quietly in front of the television. Even sometimes on comedy, sitcoms, I never seen them laugh, not a single hint, just quietly staring at the screen. Maybe mom and dad would live such for the rest of their lives! I thought, everytime I seen them with such expression.

In the following days, no matter how happy, couraging it is, I believe, deep inside their heart, there would be that undisposable burden, such was shown in their dull expression.

Mom would still prepare dishes for me and dad, being used to ordinary days before, she was like a machine, preparing dishes on time to us everyday.

Everytime I seen the dust accumulating at the corner of our house, I felt like crying. It was too pity of mom and dad. Before sister was killed, mom would clean every corner of the house carefully, but now there's a thin layer of dust everywhere around the house, my parents didn't even notice this, they must have been thinking of my sister's laughter in her younger days. How it felt the first time they hold her in their arms, they might still feel that on their arms.

They shouldn't have enter that room where sister is placed. What they say there, marked a distinct contrast with the image of a cheerful, laughing child in their memory, it haunts them for the rest of their lives.

Now, in this lifeless home, my existence is at its minimal. Whenever I tried to talk to my father, he would only, "Um..." in responce, and nodded with mere instinct. In other words, my daily life is as same as theirs. When I talk to my friends, like my parents, I could never display my smile as I used to.

Whenever the night sky draw its curtain, I would sometimes enter into my sister's room, sitting alone and pondering. My sister's room is just next to mine, she must be angry if I didn't inform her before entering if she were alive.

Its easy to accumulate dust in a room where no one lives, I placed my hand gently to my sister's desk and felt the surface of the table had already filled with particles of fine dust.

What would she thought of when she's sitting here alive? I hold my legs while sitting on the chair, looking at the furniture in the room, thinking this. The curtain was open, it was pitch black outside, the sky had turned dark.

There's a split moment, I thought I saw my sister's face on the window. But I realised it was only my own reflection on the glass panel. Even I, myself would misrecognise my own reflection as my sister, this really proves that we looked alike, isn't it?

There's a mirror on the desk. I took it, trying to reflect my face. Suddenly, I discovered a small, tube like object, that sparks my interest. It was a lipstick. I uncovered it and give it a turn.

This is a bright lipstick, red, like blood. There are a few light coloured ones, but only this blood-red lipstick leave a strong impression on me.

I don't have to look at the mirror. Between me and my sister, whether we have lipstick, that marks our difference. I hold this lipstick tightly and leave my sister's room.

I don't know how should I live beyond this. My wandering self, hears my sister's voice once again. This happens on a night, just at the end of August.



To be continued...

Voice - Prologue

2 weeks had passed since the murder of Iva Hardy.

Nearing September, the classroom was very much quiet than usual even for the notion which class is over.

There's a gas heater at the corner of the classroom. I just turned it off, but there is this perculiar scent unique to the instrument, filling the atmosphere of the season. This smell, was sufficient in killing our brain cells. I read a news in the morning; a boy died of carbon monoxide poisoning out of gas heater.

I opened the window, making air for the room. The chilly autumnal wind meets and brought away the unpleasant smell.

Just when I prepare to pack and leave, I felt the presence of someone standing behind me. I turn my back, and realised it was Sylvia.

"I have something to show you before you leave."

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My first introduction to Sylvia was when we ended up in the same class earlier this year. I am really surprised that there are others in this world, who could live an unprepurbed live, in total ignorance and isolation with others.

Even during breaktime, even walking in the veranda; she would shun others.

In short she doesn't like crowds.

Only the two of us exhibits this trait in our class. Even so, I didn't coldly disregard other classmates merry makings. I would reply, even joked; such is the minimum I would do to lead a normal life.

However, these superficial socializing and the smiles I gave, were essentially, lies.

She must have noticed that part of me when we first known each other.

"Could you teach me how to do that?"

She said motionless, one day after school. Pinching her cheeks; while it seemed childish, she punish herself for her inability of showing emotional expression. It was 5 months ago, after which we would talk from time to time.

Sylvia wore only black, everything from her long straight hair to the tip of her shoes was wrapped in darkness. In stark contrast, her skin is very much fairer than anyone I have seen. Her hands are as if made of porcelain. This combined her eccentric personality gave her an atmosphere of dark magic.

Since Sylvia was quite beautiful, I heard that many people once tried to date her. However, after that incident not long ago, things began to slowly change.

A teacher in school had tried to sexually assault her. However, she quickly subdued him with a can of pepper spray, before proceeding to beat him up with a nearby chair, emotionless. I had seen the entire process, and after that I noticed no guy dared to approach her.

Some people had initially thought we were dating each other, until they realized that we weren’t particularly close, even during our conversations. On the contrary, we each seemed to wear condescending looks upon our faces whenever we were conversing, so naturally there were many who wondered what was my true relationship with Sylvia.

It's not that her face was less expressive than that of normal people. For example, when happily reading a book about the horrific murder of 52 women and children in Russia. There was no trace of the deathly green face she had when in the midst of noisy classmates. Rather, her eyes sparkled.

Only when talking to Sylvia would I not fake my facial expressions. If I was talking to someone else, they would probably wonder why I had such a blank, unsmiling expression. When talking with her, there was no problem with that.

Perhaps she had similar reasons, because during idle times, she would choose to speak with me.
We both disliked standing out. In the classroom, we were hidden in the shadow of our boisterous classmates; we quietly lived our lives.

We shared a unique passion. We enjoy hardcore carnography, homocide episodes, snuff films, pictures that depicts death and torture.

We are lovers of bloodshed and gore, you can hardly find anyone who shared the same passion of watching "Salo, 120 days of Sodom", or "Man Behind the Sun".

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Iva's body was found 2 weeks ago at a delapitated premise in the city. Not far from my house, it used to be a hospital. Travel from the city center to the mountain, there's a crossing between the mainway and a gravel path, there's a quiet place at the end of the road. The hospital was located there. Behind the rusty wire fence, that original building stood there; alone, without any nearby buildings, only accompanied by strands of yellowy grass.

3 primary school boys found the body when there are seek thrills at the site. It is rumoured that they are still receiving psychiatric rehabilitation.

The media is in a frenzy when the body is discovered. But the news started to settle, we didn't know how far police had investigated the incident.

The best of my knowledge comes from the newspaper which described how the body was found and her personal picture before her death.

She had a straight black, long hair. Her smile shows that she had a white, slightly pronouced canine teeth.

I wondered how far the police had gone through their investigation?

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Twillight.

The lessons is over, everyone rushed to the school gate as I seen through the window. A reflection show a girl, with straight, long hair and pale complexion.

Only the 2 of us left in the classroom.

"You said you have something to show me, what was it?"

"Picture, Picture of a dead body"

Everyone had their own way of life; just as it would be hard for others to understand a particular way of life they aren't leading.

Sylvia and I shared a peculiar way of living,very much beyond reasonable fortitude. In short, in our way of life; we often exchange pictures of dead bodies in our collection.

She took out an A4 sized paper from her bag. It was a glossy paper, with sharp printing surface.

The picture was taken from a crude, concrete room. An initial glance would give you a flash of red.

There's a table in the middle of the picture; the surface of the table, surroundings, ceiling and the wall is smeared with red. Not a particular bright red we encounter in everyday life, it gleams from the dark corner of the room where light doesn't reach. It was if described, blackish red, a dark red colour.

She lies on top of that table.

"...This is Iva Hardy's...."

Sylvia slightly moved her eyebrows. Though she doesn't exhibit any facial expression, she must had a surprise as I notice.

"You do know much."

"You found it on the internet?"

"Someone pass it to me. When I am looking for information of the incident, a passerby hand it to me. It is said to be her picture, I'm not sure about it."

Sylvia is a beautiful girl, not short of flirtation when she walk on the street. However, no one would get close to her in our school, as everyone knew that she is not interested in such.

It was much different this time. Maybe someone noticed her cuttings of peculiar news and articles in places like the library, they might seek to get close to her by this idiom.

"You are great, you can recognise her from your first glance..."

Well, the picture...

Every part which resembles a human...

I explained that I am merely guessing. From the severed head placed on top of the table; I am guessing it from her hair style and rear impression.

"Oh, I see" She nodded in understanding.

I asked her about the person who gave her the picture, but she refused to reveal anything. I decided to search for it on my own on the internet.

I looked through the window and said.

"There are people who kills, and there are people who get killed."

"Why would you say that."

There are people who kills without apparent reason. It might be evolve from their development, maybe they are born to be killers. These aren't important, the key is how they hide their true nature in the society and live like others.

There would be a day where they couldn't surpress their desire to kill; when such happens, they began their huntings in the society.

I might be one of them.

At that moment, I would not treat others as human beings, but logs, an object.

"Hey."

I turned and look into her eyes.

"Wasn't you who killed her?"

"Look, the hairstyle on the picture; its permed and coloured. Very much different from what newspaper had published."

I just realised that she's quite intelligent from what she said today.

From the depth of her eyes, I perceive that she's one that seen people as peoples. I believe she wouldn't kill; though her interest is peculiar from others. She's still normal in the general sense.

Even though I bear alot of similarities with Sylvia. We are totally different on this aspect, distinctively different. It decides whether we are human beings.

She belongs to the human species, always playing the role of a prey.

I marked a stark contrast on this aspect.

"The picture where she had permed her hair was published before, only that it wasn't within her family's approval that it didn't receive as much publication."

She nodded


I return to my room at the second floor, spending a few hours of searching. The atmosphere is getting more and more intense. In the end, I couldn't find anything.

I gave up the search, took out an ornate dagger from my shelf. Staring at my face reflected on the dagger. The passing of wind outside the window, was as if howling of the victims under this dagger.

The dagger consciously summons me, or more accurately, summons what hidden inside me. Upon looking at the reflection of myself on the dagger I hear my own voice. Streetlights shimmer on the nightsky from my window.

Unsupposely sound pass on from the dagger on my hand. I would perceive that this is its thirst of blood.

I lied to Sylvia, the picture of Iva with her permed hair, had never published before.



...To be Continued.