vi. voice

He was one of the destroyers, an orb who had learned to fashion his features at will into a countenance pleasing to the eye. She had met him at an art opening soon after she’d left university. He spun a silky web of words around her, and thus cocooned was she led back through the night to his quarters. There he showed his true face to her. She awoke voiceless. He was gone and she had not seen him since, until, perhaps, that day in the alley. Over time, she’d learned not to think of him, though her broken voice could not be ignored. She began to practice speaking at home. She addressed the plants, debated with the dishes, whispered soft words to the books. It was outside, with others, where she struggled. It was not that she didn’t have things to say; in fact, she walked around holding back a constant roiling torrent of words. She simply didn’t like the personal attention that conversation required. It made her uncomfortable to have someone look at her so expectantly. And yet ever since that first day at the station, when it all started, she had felt the hailstones growing within, harder ones that would not melt. She knew there had to be answers in places no orb would ever think to look. And so the urge to share these thoughts seized her. She needed to find a person to trust, someone other than an orb. She thought of the quidams, skilled illusionists, only visible in the rare moments when they wished to be. They were likely her only hope.

Previous Post
Leave a comment


  1. You are a storyteller.

  2. taidgh

     /  July 15, 2012

    Hello. Happy Sunday. I like this. In particular: ‘She addressed the plants, debated with the dishes, whispered soft words to the books.’ Good stuff! I’ll be looking out for more of this.



Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

  • Recent Posts

  • Navigation Station

    The links along the top of the page are rudimentary attempts at trail markers. Otherwise, see below for more search and browse options.

  • In Search of Lost Time

  • Personal Taxonomy

  • Common Ground

  • Resources


%d bloggers like this: