Fragments

Mannu crashed against the wall, grateful for its solidarity. They were shouting, again; voices spasmed through his brain, sharp, gashing at his thoughts, but fuzzy, so that when he tried to focus on them, it hurt his eyes.

On the field, the others shrieked as they chased one another around the swings. He tried to focus on them, instead, but they moved so fast that their bright shapes formed a web across his eyes. He looked away, tried to wipe his vision clean, but his hands were ineffectual.

Still, the voices ran rampant, louder and louder as he fought to shut them out. They were strong, and they could see the scars they’d made upon his mind. Sometimes, he would trap them, build blockages they could not pass but they were too quick, this time. The voices coursed through a weak point in his mind. They spread like flame dropped onto oil, their harsh pulsing tones scratching at his limbs ‘til he was forced to move with them to lessen the force.

“Bloody kid’s doing it again!”

“Well, stop him, you heard what She said this morning, it’s bad for him to get into the cycle”.

“Mannu! Mannu, Challoo; let’s go! Uppa; get up!”

Somewhere above him, a voice, all alone, formed abstract words. He knew that voice. Perhaps it could save him, but it was too far away, and the other voices had hold of him now; they’d never let him reach up there and grasp at help. Silently, he cried, convulsing with the voices as they tightened their grip.

A rough hand grasped at his arm and pulled. The one-voice was reaching down to him! For a second, the voices paused, and he could hear the world tick by, but their talons still clutched at him, stifling his voicebox, stiffening muscles; it was all he could do to drag his eyes towards the hand for half a moment. The voices dragged his focus to the ground and resisted the pull of the distant one-voice and its solid form.

He felt his body being pulled up and across the floor. His heel snagged against the path and bled; he couldn’t pick it up, couldn’t straighten and pull away, couldn’t acquiesce. The voices screamed a siren of war. It encompassed him. He barely noticed as the hand let go and he, a dead weight, fell back against the wall, almost foetal. And the voices trilled their victory.

The one-voice stumped away and Mannu lay there, breathing in short, desperate bursts. The coloured web changed shape and hue before his eyes, into an organised lattice of cream on porous reds, stacked one line after another. He felt its grain beneath his fingers, craters so big the could swallow him whole. Would they? The voices buzzed excitedly as his fingertips explored, pushing deeper into the crevices as they tested the limits, out of his control. Nothing, so his hands worked on, creeping slowly across the web of lines and then slap, seeing if they could be caught out. His palms itched from the force, but they wouldn’t be stopped. He had to know if he’d be pulled through. Slap. He had to know.

“Mannu.”

Something touched the back of his hand as it reached the wall once more. The voices crashed to a halt in frozen rage.

Her eyes hovered at a spot above his shoulder, their grey sheen catching his attention.

“Teek-hai – you ok?”

The voices stared at the unwavering grey, waiting to rebel. No commands, but the grey lingered, indifferent, inescapable.

Her palm extended towards his as she watched the others play – did she notice? And his fingers found their strength. After a moment she stood, and he stood with her. Together, haltingly, they walked away