From Voices

Voices: A Collaborative Story

Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

At first I could hear nothing. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. The duet of rubber and asphalt droned from someplace not far away, and there were crickets chirping, but it felt like utter stillness to a city girl like me. If there isn't a siren blaring, then it's quiet, isn't it?

I could see the city, though, glowing just past the horizon. Too far to help me, but too close to let me see the stars.

There was grass beneath my feet, but dry rather than soft. The blades rose around my ankles, tracing lines of itchiness that the breeze did little to smooth away. The discomfort was a relief, though, if anything; a reminder that small things go on, even when big things fall apart.

And oh, had things fallen apart.