The voice on the
At first it seemed pleasant.
A stranger's voice. Accommodating.
Like a layer of bright yellow paint
that covered darker shapes that hid within.
Apocalyptic news hid just beneath
the pleasantries. All the cruelty
that lies behind a tease, with jest too coarse
to bring a healing stream of laughter.
Vibrations hung ominously in the air.
Even after the message had been deleted.
A weapon honed, sweet sickly tone of voice.
The voice on the answering machine.
Tones fading into shades of nightmare dreams...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .