She Left Traces

Miranda would call out at night for us all, her voice rippling across the clouds of out sky. I remember that everyone would come out of their holes, out into the dim light of the morning. That morning the clouds were pure black, like an evil God, or a group of them, clustered together. Behind the clouds, in the patches where they were lighter, light shined from behind, amber. They were toxic, but we were being called out, and had to meet the voice. (The wind was rustling everything, creating a torrent of white noise around us all as her voice walked through like a knife.)

My parents were the first ones to leave our block; everyone still had the lights out when her voice came, and no one bothered to turn them on in the first place. It was thought that this would be quick, that we would come out, listen, and walk back in. So, they went out, and I followed close behind. There were a lot of heads coming towards us, just silhouettes of human figures that drifted closer and closer like phantoms. Somewhere in the midst a baby was crying, several of them, I thought. But no one would say anything and it was killing me; my mother and father wouldn't even say a word. It was as if, when Miranda sang, she took everyone's voice away with her own.

We all gathered into a clearing in around our block and several others. The grass was still moist with dew, and the air wavered strongly, wet with humidity. Everyone stood there for awhile, waiting to see her some where in the clouds, but she never came. We stood there for about an hour as her voice came closer and closer to us, but eventually it started fading away again. Everyone went back inside after all that waiting, back to sleep. But I stayed up that time; the rain came soon afterward, sizzling as it hit my window. It was so dark outside, but lighter than my room. The raindrops would flash gold as they hit my window, like weak sparks.

I sighed a million times before she called us all again.