Her Voice

There was never a trace of her. Not a footprint, a stitch of clothing, some lock of blonde hair. There was nothing.

He took off in the woods behind their house; filled with tall pines and oaks. It was Fall and the brown leaves crunched under his feet. Underneath, thick mud that caused his boots to sink in a little. It’d rained the night before.

A gun was carried in both hands as if he were hunting. It was a shotgun that his daddy had given him. He always carried it with him when he went out to the woods. He’d shoot at squirrels, rabbits, beavers in the dam that consisted of logs and sticks; pretty clear water flowed from one end of the forest to the other.

As he walked he kept hearing her voice singing a song. A spiritual song written years ago. One that they sang in church to a pitchpipe. He kept hearing her sing. It was, The Old Rugged Cross, she was gently giving voice to. He’d hear it, then it’d stop. Right in mid chorus it’d stop. Then, it’d start again.

And there was no direction that it came from. The singing was inside his head. Or so he thought.

He was out there all day looking for her. The voice got louder and louder. He decided to stop and put his gun down. Try and clear his mind. But, she wouldn’t stop singing. Just wouldn’t stop.

So he ran. He picked up the pace and ran out of the woods. And then, the voice stopped. It just got quiet. Got peaceful. He knew she was home.

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