Shadow-Speaker

I don't really like this much - I feel as if it's too short and is rushed. But I had to post something or I'd never get around to posting at all
_____________________________________________________________________

The whispers come at night, voices creeping through the fringes of my consciousness -poking, prodding at my insides. I can have no secrets from them. They take everything, leaving only unwanted knowledge in return. They tell me the secrets of the world, secrets they have torn from the unsuspecting minds of all they encounter. It only makes me wonder who hears my secrets. Who judges me as I judge those the voices speak to me of. Am I found wanting?

The men of my tribe consider me sacred, think that the voices come from something divine. They call me Spirit-Walker, Shadow-Speaker, Blessed One, their voices always tinged with awe. But despite the praises forced upon me, I think I am haunted, for what god would wish these nightmare-ghosts upon me? They take their toll on me, they steal my strength nightly. I can feel in in my heavy limbs, see it in the bruiselike darkness under my eyes. Soon I will have nothing left for them to take. It seems almost impossible to me that no one else has noticed. And yet, there have been no questions.

Even my father does not notice anything amiss. He came to me last night, told me that he was proud of me, proud that his son was so honored. I could not look him in the eye, knowing that this hearing, this dreaming is nothing to be proud of. He would not be proud of me if he knew what they were driving me to do.

The goblet is in my hand, my eyes are fixed on the deep red liquid inside. I drink, tasting the bitterness of the herb I added, th eon that I know will kill me. And as I feel the world fading, I can hear the whispers. They are coming, coming for me.

Even in death I cannot escape them.