She’d always welcomed the voices.
Though Greta knew not to let on she was hearing people speak inside her head, she didn’t think it was a bad thing. They were angels. Guides.
Greta wasn’t a pretty girl and didn’t “grow into her looks”, as her mum used to say. But friends often described her as having a “Mona Lisa smile”.
It was the voices that formed her knowing grin. They moved with her in a steady rhythm, galloping alongside her own thoughts.
Until that one day.
The voices grew urgent, aggressive. They became a stampede that trampled her mind.
February 24, 2016 prompt: Galloping – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about galloping