by Scott Baron
The voices were what woke her up.
Madeline was comfortably resting when she heard the first of them. It was ever so faint, almost like a buzzing insect just out of reach.
What is that? She rolled to her side and put the pillow over her head.
No good.
The voices continued regardless, apparently immune to the muffling powers of feather down pillows.
“Hey,” she said, nudging Donovan.
“Hmm? What is it?” he asked groggily. “It’s Sunday, I don’t have to get up.”
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“It sounds like voices.”
“Honey, go back to sleep, okay?” he said, curling back up and slipping once more into blissful unconsciousness.
Madeline, on the other hand, could do no such thing. She got to her feet and hopped in the shower. The voices followed her. In fact, they stayed with her as she poured a bowl of cereal, and got a little louder when she gave a small pile of Cheerios to Walter.
“You can hear them, can’t you Walter?”
“Talkie talkie,” said the bird.
“Good bird.”
Walking the streets at such an early hour on a Sunday, Madeline couldn’t help but feel relaxed by the lack of traffic noise in the air. Or at least she would have felt relaxed if not for the increasing clamor of voices. What had started as just a few faintly speaking in the distance had grown to what must have been at least a dozen, all talking at the same time, just beyond her ability to comprehend.
When she stopped to get a cappuccino, she asked the barista if she heard them. The answer was no, which was disconcerting. Adding insult to injury, Madeline was not amused when she saw the name that had been penned on her to-go cup.
“Crazy Bird Lady.”
“Crazy lady! Crazy lady!” Walter had opined just as she was ordering. Thanks Walter, she thought as she sipped the piping hot drink and stepped outside.
“Well,” she said out loud to no one in particular, “if I can’t get away from them…” With that, she started off down the street, using the voices as a sort of compass, following the sound as it got louder and louder.
By the time she had reached the front of the old church, the voices were in the dozens, and the volume was downright annoying.
“Seems to be coming from in there,” she said to her feathered friend. “Should we go in?”
“Going home! Going home!” Walter chirped.
Madeline stepped from the sidewalk onto the church grounds and stopped in her tracks. The voices, all seventy-eight of them she suddenly knew, were perfectly clear. Not only that, she could make out what each and every one of them was saying. All at once.
“Oh,” she said as things slammed into focus. She knew what had happened, her memory crystal clear.
Several blocks away, Madeline Dunleavy’s apartment disappeared.
As did her boyfriend.
As did every trace of her ever existing.
With a ruffle of his feathers, Walter too disappeared.
“Huh,” God said with an amused little shrug as she faded, albeit reluctantly, into the ether, heading back to work after her first real vacation in Lord knows how many millennia.
***
Many Thanks
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~ Scott ~
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