Fade Me
Matthew Ryan Fischer
“When was the last time you talked to Leda?”
“I can’t remember.”
The photos had faded. There was dust on the frames. The years had
come and gone. There were stains where hands had pushed doors open, smudges on
the walls where fingers had flipped on and off light switches. Paint was
chipped. Wallpaper stained. Cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling.
The wood floors would creak at night. When Brennan would walk the
hallways during the day, he could never repeat the same sound. It meant
nothing, but he noticed and wondered why.
The crows would cross the sky at sunrise, but in later afternoon
they would land and sit on the rooftops and in the trees. More and more
gathered every day. Soon they spread across yards and the street itself.
Most would scatter in a cacophony of noise and fly away when
Brennan came outside. Most, but not all. One especially bold crow would stay
still, in the yard, watching him. He could get within ten feet and still
nothing, the crow was unafraid. The crow would study him, just as much as he
it. What was it thinking, he wondered? Why was it so undaunted?
The crow was not his friend.
Brennan felt unseasonably cold. He never got chills when he was
young. Now, a common occurrence. She was cold. Often. Now that it was too late,
he could relate.
The sun set and Brennan sat in the shadows. The last light from
the setting sun reflecting on the picture frames. A glimmer kept dancing in his sight-line. Annoying and precise, somehow always finding his exact line of
sight.
The shadows filled the room with darkness and he was alone.
Winter set in.
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