Mary Without Sound
With Perfect Sound You Bring Me Down: 2
10. I Can Hear You Clearly
I’m so startled at the new sound of her voice that I drop the pans I was carrying and they clatter to the floor with resounding bangs.
I must have gone insane at some point in the past month or so.
That has to be it.
I’ve been so fucking pathetically lonely lately that now I’m hallucinating my voluntarily-mute roommate asking me about my ex-love-of-my-life-fiancée.
I whip around to look at her, to make sure I didn’t imagine her saying that.
She’s wearing that Mary look again, mixed with something else.
I bend down to pick up the pans I’ve dropped, and the room feels ten times hotter than it did five seconds ago.
A few startling things that are inconsistent with this picture:
1. Mary actually speaking. Mary with sound.
2. How did Casey get dragged back into this?
3. How does Mary know who Casey is?
She’s staring at me in half-alarm and half-amusement as I put them down on the counter, avoiding her gaze while I put away the pots I don’t need.
The room is sweltering hot and I’m sure my face is crimson.
“What?” is all I can say, seeing as I’m still trying to process the situation in my brain.
“I…” she begins, then stops. “I just wanted to know who Casey is.”
Her voice isn’t at all how I imagined it would be.
It’s low – not low as in deep, just low as in…thoughtful.
Not low as is quiet, but instead…delicate.
Low as in a hum, as in musical, harmonious, almost.
It throws me off completely.
“Casey?” I repeat dumbly, because I’m still trying to wrap my head around the inconsistencies of the night.
Her eyebrow raises, and my mind is racing indecisively.
I can’t decide whether to lie, play it off as unimportant, play dumb, or just blurt out the whole damn truth already.
Minutes or seconds or hours go by as she stares at me with her Mary Stare and I look back blankly with my mouth half open but with no words coming out.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she offers, and I hear the hint of a smirk in her voice. “You never have to, you know.”
“I…” I stammer, avoiding her gaze. “Do you like spaghetti?” I ask, gracelessly.
I’m so startled at the new sound of her voice that I drop the pans I was carrying and they clatter to the floor with resounding bangs.
I must have gone insane at some point in the past month or so.
That has to be it.
I’ve been so fucking pathetically lonely lately that now I’m hallucinating my voluntarily-mute roommate asking me about my ex-love-of-my-life-fiancée.
I whip around to look at her, to make sure I didn’t imagine her saying that.
She’s wearing that Mary look again, mixed with something else.
I bend down to pick up the pans I’ve dropped, and the room feels ten times hotter than it did five seconds ago.
A few startling things that are inconsistent with this picture:
1. Mary actually speaking. Mary with sound.
2. How did Casey get dragged back into this?
3. How does Mary know who Casey is?
She’s staring at me in half-alarm and half-amusement as I put them down on the counter, avoiding her gaze while I put away the pots I don’t need.
The room is sweltering hot and I’m sure my face is crimson.
“What?” is all I can say, seeing as I’m still trying to process the situation in my brain.
“I…” she begins, then stops. “I just wanted to know who Casey is.”
Her voice isn’t at all how I imagined it would be.
It’s low – not low as in deep, just low as in…thoughtful.
Not low as is quiet, but instead…delicate.
Low as in a hum, as in musical, harmonious, almost.
It throws me off completely.
“Casey?” I repeat dumbly, because I’m still trying to wrap my head around the inconsistencies of the night.
Her eyebrow raises, and my mind is racing indecisively.
I can’t decide whether to lie, play it off as unimportant, play dumb, or just blurt out the whole damn truth already.
Minutes or seconds or hours go by as she stares at me with her Mary Stare and I look back blankly with my mouth half open but with no words coming out.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she offers, and I hear the hint of a smirk in her voice. “You never have to, you know.”
“I…” I stammer, avoiding her gaze. “Do you like spaghetti?” I ask, gracelessly.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks: yeahthatsme93.