'Lost Voices' by James Turner

It began on the edge of a cliff. Above crashing waves. And while the full moon shone on the ocean she spoke to his father for the last time. Kieran’s mother only told him the story once, on his eighteenth birthday. A year later he stood on that same cliff edge, trying to see beyond the horizon and make sense of what happened. He pictured the two of them lying on the grass, eyes locked, baring their souls as they plotted his future. Still, it made no sense, but his mother refused to say anymore.

‘It’s not supposed to make sense,’ she said. ‘It’s just what happened.’

Kieran could see her thinking about it sometimes. Her eyes would flicker and well, like the moon on the ocean and he tried to imagine how she held it all together. He felt guilty for all the times he made her cry. He created a romantic version of events, a history that he could try to live with.

In truth, it was a mess, a choice born of necessity, not from any noble deed of a loving father. It was a way of beginning again in the hope something good could come from the darkness of the past. But this good thing was left looking back at its shadow. On that cliff edge. Questioning everything he thought he believed in, while the wind blew through his hair and the waves crashed over the rocks below.

*

That was in the past now. The cliff, his mother and the guilt. Discarded off the edge of that deteriorating land, lost to the dark water below. Everything he thought he knew thrown over. Kieran screamed every bad memory and thought until his throat burned from their sharp edges and his chest collapsed. He promised himself that the actions of his parents would not stop him living his life.

Five years on from his trip to the coast he resides in his own three bedroom semi with a wife called Janice. The past forgotten, lost in a life of family, friends, work and television. All his time spoken for by Janice and her social circle. He had been sucked into something he thought was life.

Driving home from a two week holiday at her father’s lakeside cabin they watched the road wind through greens and greys. It had been a relaxing time, no effort made, easy conversations and strolls at the water's edge. Walking through the front door Keiran and Janice remembered what had been left behind. They wanted to believe that their home had been burgled, or a racoon had snuck in. But no, the broken plates and glasses were still on the floor from their own sore hands. The waste bin still overturned and the contents of a drawer still scattered across the floor. Flies hovered over the twisted black bananas in the fruit bowl. And somewhere in the house their raised voices still echoed.