by Sairravha Davis

Created on: August 03, 2009

There it goes again. Whispering. I'm sick of it. That's all they do all day, all night is...whisper. Wait. Its quiet. Is it finally over? This was suppose to be a simple there a ghost, I'll send it back to hell, and give me my check. But these people want to make this an joke. Leaving me locked up in this room for god know how many days. Its wired with cameras so I know these sick people are watching me make a fool out of myself. But you know what, you can ALL GO TO HELL! Ruin my career I don't care anymore. Just get me out of here. There are children here. Both boys and girls, all under the age of twelve. There is a baby too. In the whisper I hear him crying. I can't take this anymore, its breaking my heart.

Wait...there it is again. The whispers. It's so quiet, so soft. I can feel them touching my skin. It feels like its burning a hole through my soul, and the smell. That god offal smell of dead burned bodies. I hate to even think about what happen to these children. If I close my eyes, I see them. Standing right in front of me. Crowded around me in a circle. Just looking at me. No matter where I am in the room they follow. I don't even see a soul in their eyes anymore. God please let me out. LET ME OUT!

I cruel up against the wall. I break down. God what do these children want from me? I tried to set them free, its just to many. My body won't allow me to do that. I have sat here and prayed like I have never prayed before. I sat here trying to find some way out of these stone walls. I have tried my hardest to listen to the children but I cant here what they are saying. I have closed my eyes, and saw their faces, each and every one of them. Saw the ashes, broken bones and missing limbs. What else is a simple median to do?

I get up. My one last frantic array to get out, I grab an old chisel and start banging at the walls. Stone by stone they fall covering the ground. There is a wall here. Pictures. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures. The children. Yes I remember seeing this ones face. I take one of the pictures and I turn it over. 'Jonathan O'Hare, age 7, orphan, subject number 1057, died 1897, came back alive March 21st 1918.'

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