The Vioce

Martinis with olives

Avery

I stirred my martini, the olives bobbing on the surface. I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. Why was I even here. Oh yeah, I have a freaking voice in my head that made me. I see Evangeline was still the same. Bubbly, gorgeous, popular. Oh, and normal. Completely normal.

My my, just as pretty as ever, too. Her long brown hair gliding down her back, the springy curls bobbing as she socialized and chatted.Her green eyes glitter, reflecting the moonlight coming in through the glass roof. Her green dress, is, well, by the looks of it, more expensive than my monthly rent.

Her and her popular, bubbly, gorgeous self decided to throw a banquette in honor of all us successful orphans she grew up with. Yup, I’m sure one big success.

“It’s almost time, Avery,” I walked to the bathroom, I didn’t want to look like a freak talking to no one. Once there I shut myself in and whispered into my cupped hand.

“You still haven’t explained what I’m even doing here,”

“You remember Evangeline Williams, of course,” As if I could forget.

“Yeah,”

“You don’t like her very much, do you?”

“No,” It was there, the voice, during my childhood. It knew her.It knew how mean she had always been to me.

“Well tonight you get to take your revenge,”

“How, exactly,”

“Kill her,” No. I could’t. I just, I… I was already out the door and into the ballroom. I was already, mechanicly walking toward Mrs. Turner, the orphanage manager, who happened to be standing next to Evangeline Williams.

===

Evangeline

Somebody hadn’t changed since twelfth grade. She flashed me a cold stare after coming out of the ladies room. I watched her punky pretty features stride toward me. She always had extremely long dirty blond hair. Tonight it was all pinned up on the side of her head in a big, fluffy, bun. Her deathly white skin was amazingly contrasted by her short, sleeveless, black dress. She looked like she was about to go clubbing.

“Well if it isn’t little miss Evangeline Williams,” her voice was cold, obviously not happy to see me.

“Hello Avery,” She always thought she was better than me, always. Always so stuck up, acted like she was above us all.

“Avery! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Turner looked at Avery, smiling. “But your not exactly the little girl I remember,” Avery’s jaw dropped. She smiled cockily.

“Maybe you just didn’t know my as well as you thought you did,” In my opinion, Avery hasn’t changed a bit.

“So Avery, what have you been up to?” I tried to be polite, but it was hard around a girl like her.

“Not much, this and that and some other things,” I felt pressure on my abdomen. I looked down. Avery was holding a gun to my under the table. I looked at her as she raised a finger to her lips.

“shhh” she whispered.

“Girls, whats going on?” The voice wasn’t here! I didn’t have to frame Mrs. Turner! It would be all right! But then I realized as my hand slipped into my purse and grabbed the gun, conveniently, I noticed, the exact same make as Avery’s. And then I unwillingly was forced by the voice to slip the gun into Mrs. Turners purse. I tried to scream, but the voice wouldn’t let me. And for the very first time I realized, I was going to die. I wouldn’t ever see another day. And the voice would never make me do anything ever again. Avery took a sip from her martini.

“Say goodnight, Evangeline,” she hissed. And then it happened. It wasn’t the gun I heard first, it was Mrs.Turner. She screamed. I heard a lot of people scream. That’s because at the last minute, Avery jerked the gun up and managed to shatter my martini. I closed my eyes. I was probably the only still person in the building. Avery had just walked out. Mrs.Turner had fainted. Before I knew it the police had arrived. They sat me down in a chair and told me to tell them what happened. I hung my head low, I didn’t know what to say. I woulodn’t say anything until the voice told me to. How could the voice do that to me? Get me so close to death? I hadn’t heard from it yet. I felt utterly and completely betrayed. I had trusted it. I thought it cared about me. It had always been so nice. Always. Until now.

“We need you to tell us what happened, miss,” an olive rolled and tapped my foot.

“Somebody shot my martini,”