A young child of 9 years old walked on through the freezing rain, no umbrella to his name. Chestnut hair stuck to his face and neck, beads of water forming at the ends and uncomfortably dripping down his back. His oversized long sleeved shirt, dirty with age, clung to his lithe frame with no intentions of ever letting go. Rain now pouring down faster than ever, stinging his face like tiny little needles, he ran faster, rain boots sickly yellow in color making awful sloshing noises with every stride.


You’ll catch cold if you don’t get out of the rain soon.



There was that voice again. The voice never left young Addison, and it was becoming more common lately. He didn’t really mind it, though. Sort of. It was his only company since he had escaped from that horrid orphanage-


You should have never left. Now where will you go? You at least had something back at the building with the loud children inside-


“I’m beginning to become cross with you,” Addison whispered from under his scarf covering his mouth. He didn’t like it when the voice taunted him. It made him angry. It made him want to hurt whatever controlled it.



Now what do you have?


“L-leave me alone…” Addison shook his head and ran faster, harder, desperate for some form of shelter.


Addison didn’t want to acknowledge the voice at the moment, it was making him awfully irritated.


Listen to me, boy.


“Sh-shush up! I don’t want to hear your words!”



He set his mind off of it by singing a little tune he had heard the nannies sing to babies before they went to sleep to keep away night terrors. Perhaps it would keep the terrible voice away as well.


“S-sleep, baby, sleep, thy f-father tends his sheep-”



Do not ignore me, boy.


“Thy mother shakes th-the dreamland tree and softly dreams do fall for thee-”


You have nothing, boy. Nothing now and nothing forever.


“Sleep, baby, s-sleep…”


Addison collapsed on the cracked concrete, skinning knees through wet baggy pyjama pants. He knew he couldn’t go on another step.


Just give up.


He would. Would that make Mr. Speech shut his trap? To obey him and lay on the ground like some useless dog?


This elicited a giggle from Addison, but he quickly stopped the rest from escaping his mouth, realizing how hideously inappropriate laughter would be at this moment.


He lay there, letting what was left of the rain come down on his backside, catching his breath and letting himself finally relax. His head always seemed to ache when speech without a body came.

Soon, the blackness began to cover his sight, and the last thing he heard before drifting off into a blissful, uninterrupted sleep, was the voice singing to him ever so quietly.


‘Sleep, baby, sleep

Heaven sends us sheep,

The little stars are lambkins white,

The moon she tends them all the night

Sleep, baby, sleep.’


It didn’t hurt his head that time.