URSULA
CASE 002
Paid Subs Help Keep The Art Alive and Voices Heard.
URSULA
Case File By The In Between
Name: Ursula
Occupation: Voice ‘Coach’
Affliction: Parental Neglect, Seasonal Depression
History: Daddy issues/Merman Envy
Therapist: Let’s start where we left off: your childhood.
Ursula: It was the usual. Summers at the shore. Boarding school at the bottom of the sea. A week on a sunken shipwreck for the holidays.
Therapist: Not where and when, I want you to tell me how you felt.
Ursula: Felt?
Therapist: Yes. For example, when they shipped you off to boarding school at the bottom of the sea, how did that make you feel?
Ursula: I don’t have those things.
Therapist: Everyone has feelings.
Ursula: Well, no one asked. So I didn’t develop them.
Therapist: I’m asking.
Ursula: Father said little girls were to be seen, not heard. My brother’s opinion was the only one that mattered.
Therapist: You matter.
Ursula: If you must know, I hated boarding school. I hated the shore. Hated sunken shipwreck buffets. Not that it mattered. Nothing I say ever matters.
Therapist: And how does that make you feel?
Ursula: You talk too much. But I do like your twang. What would you trade it for?
Therapist: Well... I don’t need anything.
Ursula: I see you went to community college in Bayonne.
Ursula: What if I gave you a pedigree for your voice? How would that make you feel? Like a big conch shell of a man? Like a head honcho? Bet you wish you had a bigger plaque.
Therapist: This is very inappropriate.
Ursula: The thing about nobody listening is you get really good at seeing what people really want.
Therapist: (hesitates, then sizes up his plaque) Maybe, just for one week.
Ursula: You poor thing. Mama’s gonna make it feel all better.
Poetic Journal Entry
They say
I steal voices.
If only they knew
how willingly
people surrender them.
For love.
For approval.
For a seat
at someone else’s table.
I’ve watched
countless hearts
mistake silence
for devotion.
The shells
never lie.
Hold one
against your ear,
and it will tell you
the last sentence
someone swallowed
before becoming
who they believed
they had to be.
I keep them.
Not as trophies.
As echoes.
There are voices
that disappeared
long before
they ever reached me.
Sometimes,
late at night,
I lift a shell
to my ear
and listen
to everything
the sea
refused
to forget.
Today,
a young girl
placed her voice
in my hands.
She called it
love.
I almost told her
its real name.
Instead,
I handed her
the contract.
Some truths
cannot
be spoken.
They can only
echo.
One like. One comment. One Restack.
That’s all it takes to keep these stories going.
Past Case Files And Intro
More About Kasu
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I have a burning desire to create, and a dream to make a living off it.
With love, Kasu
About Mila
I’m Mila. A mother of two. A Creative Director by a day, a writer of plays, poetry, films and fiction every spare moment I can find. My dream at this not so young age is to make writing and teaching of writing not just my creative life but my working life. Every sub and paid sub helps me get there.
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 | A guest post by
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This work and conversation is therapy for me
Thanks for sharing and keep writing 💫
I loved both contributions so much, listening is power and so is having a voice. Thank you both for this great post 💙