Page 31 - DivineSparkRising II-TheMirrorofSilenceFinal

Nicholas Boothman
A printer in the hall spit a page she had asked
for before dawn. A list of phrases people had
forgotten during The Echo. Freedom. Hope. Trust.
The words had returned, but thinner at the edges.
She tapped the page with a finger and felt the
paper give under her nail. It felt like a scab that
would not hold.
The door opened. A woman with tired eyes
carried in a stack of old Chorus equipment. The
case edges were dented, the foam torn. On top sat a
portable spectrum analyzer with a cracked screen
and a sticker half peeled away. Carolina plugged it
in and watched the baseline settle. There was a
notch where no notch should be. A gap that moved
like something alive.
“Fractures,” she said.
She picked up her phone and wrote to Henry
again. Bring the journals. Bring yourself.
Back in Lisbon, the river turned black and gold.
The cafés filled. Voices rose and fell and left more
room than they used to. The guitarist down the
street played a full song and smiled like a man who
had fixed a small machine with his hands. The boy
on the tile finished his chalk spiral and looked up
as if he had heard a name. He wiped his fingers on
his shorts and went inside.
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