The Whimpering Wood War
Part 1: Exciting for the Forthcoming WarA dull reverberation clattered slowly, in termite increments, off the heads of the
human population. The grainy whines had grinded into becoming too much a slow dust
migration for the popular lung. Interest in the ancient puppy-dog cries of the
trees depopulated when the deadwood crafts of the people added their lung-punctured-
cat hisses of a baby's hunger to the sonic stew. (It wasn't directly painful at
first. It was a startling object found in the sand; a conversation piece more
dramatic than humidity.) Heads turned to whispering ears thudding messages through
the clench-toothed concave speakers:
Clean out the flue. Save your gasoline. Take up smoking.
it will come.
Emily nodded in a continual jerk, thinking fo the suitcase lurking amidst the
basement's storage boxes, as her father told her forehead what he had seen on T.V.
Understanding her father's jovially joweled exclamations on the merits of The Cleaner
Sweepertm made her sweat beneath the frantic space-heater mutterings of the
coffee table's self-pity. Nodding did not. The slight breeze's non-committal
traveling through her hair cooled her staring brow- the tactile mantra urinating all
thoughts but passive agreement.
Emily watched the resulting dust cloud until supper, picturing in the mites a world
where she could fly.