A deep breath, and Sealy begins.
Out of the wings. Toward the light. Slow steps, but sure steps.
This used to be her playground. Always, this place was hers. Fifty people, a hundred, nearly a thousand once, all silent in the dark. All listening to Sealy.
Oh, you haven't lived until you've held a hundred people in your hand, felt the shape of that silence, the rich and dusty psychic weight of a hundred unseen souls waiting for your next word.
Steps are slow, but sure.
A deep breath, to the center. Expand the diaphragm and drop the tone. Rusty, but steady: she remembers how to do it.
And so it carries, her old voice, through the light and past the light, into the house and into the dark.
Sealy remembers how. So she begins.
11:13 p.m. - 04-04-18
Recent entries:
Sealy Remembers - 05-23-13
Sealy Writes - 04-04-18
Rewind to "Everything's Fine" - 12-25-17
What We Have So Far - 12-25-17
Lightning Crashes - 2017-12-24
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