Every morning, he looks for her in the bathroom mirror. Dimly seen, her luxuriant hair frames an ivory grin.
At noon, his office phone rings. It's only whispers, barely audible except for the sweet tone of her soft voice.
In the evening, she stares out the kitchen window, shoulders trembling, and stands in the shadows of the living room, eyes round, mouth set firmly.
At night, he curls up, eager for morning's glimpse. Tries to keep his eyes off the wet form by the bed. Tries to ignore her bulging eyes, grey skin, the seawater leaking from her slack mouth.
Author bio: Levi Krain rose from a clear, cold northern lake and enveloped a small American city. Since then, he has moved on to bigger and better things and now resides in the heart of New England where he spins tales and refuses to drink the water from the well.
Twitter: @LeviKrain.
Whispers is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.
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