Shattered Night
The woods that stretch away behind the house are quiet. There are aspens out there. Aspens rustle their leaves in appreciation of the least of breezes, but even they are still and I cannot hear them. I know that there are frogs in the swamp that is near the house. The warmth of the day and the calm of the night have placated them as well, and they aren’t calling. Occassionally, a cricket stridulates grumpily.
The dinner dishes have been waiting to be washed in the kitchen for hours. I fill the sinks with hot water and get to work. The window is open. It provides no relief from the rising steam.
A scream pierces the forest. Primal. Animal. The dishes are forgotten. Five seconds, ten. My pulse rises with each passing second. It’s not anger. Fifteen seconds. I’m frozen in place. A second voice, growling quietly. Twenty seconds. I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Not anger, but pain. Twenty five, thirty seconds. The scream finally ends. I breathe again.
The woods are quiet. I wash the next glass.