Because Jason really liked this one, I’ve decided to share it with all of you:
She couldn’t block them out anymore. Every moment a new whisper assaulted her ears like a warhorn, each louder and more urgent than the next.
Fiona wasn’t sure how or when they started because at first they were soft, quiet undertones that murmured like a gently flowing stream. Constant, but almost soothing in their constancy. She quickly became used to them. They were a conglomeration of unintelligible babbling. If any emotion could be associated with them, she would have said they were cheerful. The tone always lifted her mood and she would find herself smiling for no reason.
That’s when the rest of the village started to whisper about her being touched. Initially, they just smiled and nodded, taking more time to explain things to Fiona than was really needed. They thought she was simple. Fiona would grow impatient with them and snap that she wasn’t an idiot. The tone of the whispers changed, both those of the villagers and the ones that apparently only she heard. The villagers became suspicious of her and the whispers became suspicious of them, catching the young woman who heard both in the middle. She didn’t smile as much anymore.
The whispers no longer soothed Fiona. They made her odd. They made her uncomfortable. They made the children throw rocks. The whispers snarled in retaliation and the children ran from the scowl on her face.
Everything was spiralling out of control. Fiona couldn’t stop the whispers and she couldn’t make things right with the village. She tried to explain past the screaming whispers in her head, but her words only made the mothers huddle their children close as the men fingered the hilts of their knives. Their eyes threatened, so the whispers threatened in return. Volume dropped to a low, angry rumble and it terrified Fiona.
She had no choice. She had to leave or either the whispers or the villagers would kill her. They would crush her between their anger.