Whispers (An Older Fiction Story I Wrote)

    Two voices, he heard two voices...at first. "Don't do it. It'll never work." , said one. Simply reminding him in the beginning. Calmly reminding him of lies that appeared as truth. Subtle and convincing the voice was received by him easily for a time. There he sat, deeply discouraged and unsure of whether he should even try, swallowed up in the despair and the destruction that buried him in the hopeless dark.

       

         "Get up. You can do this. You have a skill here. Remember your heritage! It runs in your family, it runs in you!", commanded another voice all at once. Calm...at first...then pleading with him louder and more defiantly with each sharp word thrown through the black lies surrounding him. Heard first as little else than whispers, until the voice became clearer and clearer. He paid attention as it spoke, this voice that sounded all too familiar to him. Heard somewhere, from a not too distant past, and then he recognized the voice calling him to persevere: his uncle's. Gary was moved, confused as to how he suddenly heard him this clearly, yet he listened among sorrow’s night that was now scattering.

           

           "You can't! You shouldn't! It will not turn out well! " , began the other voice again, the inner critic within Gary that grew ravenously and quickly with each attack upon this downtrodden soul. His uncle's voice spoke now with even greater authority once again, "Enough! He is my family, my talented nephew! He is more than capable!". Back and forth the two voices fought each other, warring for victory as the battle raged on inside Gary's mind.

          

              In the fighting he began wondering how he could hear his long dead uncle's voice the same way two people spoke in person, the same uncle who believed in him all his life. The same uncle he missed dearly. The mystery left him deeply confused yet amazed as he willingly listened to his welcome support and encouragement once again through the entire ordeal. He listened as the whispers became a needed voice to him now, water to his thirsty soul, thirsty for hope and empowering. He picked up the paintbrush in response, began painting productivity with each brush stroke giving way to a beautiful inspiration now speaking loudly upon the unusual canvas of stone residing alongside a busy city street where an urban mural he was commissioned for was now being completed.

        

              Whispers from the long departed were now changing everything, hope that was lighting up the dark discouragement and defeat that was previously dominant, whispers that were giving clarity and birthing purpose again in the self-conscious artist once more somehow. Colors emerged from the void of black and white that were forming a new picture from this desperate internal war. It was here that this strange phenomenon of a famous painter from a long line of painters was now witnessed receiving this motivation with gratitude: these whispers of hope and encouragement that were making all the difference. Impact clearly known travelling from the afterlife somehow.

Sidenote: If any of the writing on this blog (including this story) has made a good impact on your life in someway (EVEN if it was something you may have enjoyed reading for a particular reason), please feel free to share this blog with someone else who could be blessed also. Thank you for your support!