Foreword: Über. Characters mine. This time I hardly break any copywright regulations at all.

Summary: In the darkness, there is allways...

This fic is written in parallel with two of my other fics - The Strength Within and Skeletons In The Closet. They are basicly about the same thing. It can also be read as a sequel to my earlier fics There Is A Monster Under The Bed and A Ramble Through London.

If you wouldn't mind I would be very happy if you took the time to write an email with a short comment of the fic.

The Voice In The Attic

Rosie was sad. Sad as rain. Sad as a gray day. It was one of those times, feeling like she was all by herself and no one cared about her at all. She sat in her own place, the far-away corner of the attic. She heard her own heart beating.

The attic was her own place. It was calm, untouched by the world. Things out there changed all the time. Her corner in the attic never changed. There was boxes that had never been opened in her whole life. There was a wooden bird, regarding her with lifeless eyes, that had never been moved. Rosie patted its head. She was not scared of it, not scared of it life-less stare. It belonged here, in the never-chaning darkness of the attic. And so did she.

Rosie was sad. Of course, life sometimes gives a sixyearold plenty of reasons being sad. Grown ups being unreasonable, friends being cruel, the world not being what it should be. When she was sad, Rosie liked coming here, to this place, to the never changing darkness of the attic. Rosie was sad. She sat in the darkness and listened to the voices.

'Cry if you want to' said the voice. 'Cry, but do not let your eyes be so misty so that you can not see through them.'
'Just wait' said the voice. 'Be patient. Everything is coming to she who knows how to wait.'
'Being sad is just another way of being hurt' said the voice. 'That is how you learn to be strong. When you are strong enough, nothing will ever be able to hurt you again.

Rosie sat alone in the never-changing darkness of the attic and listened to the voices. The voices inside her own head. She watched the scenes on the inside of her eyelids, finding comfort in them.
'There is hope' she whispered, her tears drying.
'There is allways hope' answered the voice. The dry, dark voice, cracking like fire. The voice within.

There is allways Hope.