This place had always puzzled me. It’s the place he had brought me to many years ago. He didn’t bring me voluntarily. No. I had to beg and promise to never divulge this location to anyone. This was the place he’d come whenever he desired quiet. He told me it was too loud down there in the city. Was he hearing something I’m not hearing?
The last time we came here, we stood for five minutes before he complained, “It’s too loud up here. Let’s go back down.”
“I don’t hear anything.” I replied, looking around the foggy landscape. There was no sound – no crickets and birds chirping, even the air was quiet. It was almost eerie standing there.
“Well, I do.” He yelled, clapping his hands tight against his ears.
This had been puzzling to me since. What was he hearing up there – at the only place he sought quiet? Also, how did he know exactly what people wanted before they asked for it? Could he – could he be what I think he is?
I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.