SB LACROIX

I heard nothing until he spoke my name. His haunting voice echoed in my mind as I attempted to get on with my daily chores.

The day was bleak. Black birds of every kind gathered in my yard, their screeching unable to be ignored. Had they come to warn me? Had they come to announce the end? Or perhaps the beginning? Something was surely brewing; a change so profound history would not only be written, but it would echo the past.

Disease and suffering lingered all around. I fought it off and pushed my way through, but wondered, how long before it claimed me? How far could I manage on sheer will alone? And just what exactly was going on? People get sick all the time, but this was something that seemed to persist; an illness that plagued its host who dragged it around like a ball and chain.

I lingered between the depths of my soul and the darkness of my mind. The doorbell rang and brought a combination of new life and illness. I listened to my guest as I ransacked my mind for answers.

Another soul at the door, another person to focus on as my thoughts drifted. Soon I was able to get back to my day and planned to venture outside, hoping the crisp air of the dreary spring day would clear my head.

Outside the air was both soothing and invigorating. I filled the bird feeders for the little birds who thanked me with their song. The different kinds of black birds sat high up in the leafless branches of the trees, still screeching. The feeling that lingered in the air was palpable. It was the uncertainty; the uncertainty of what was coming to an end, and what would soon begin.

From my book: Shattered