one [ voice post ]
[there's a slight scuffle as the recording device is turned on: for a moment, nothing but the whistle of the wind and the strange emptiness that is purely purgatorium. eerie. there's a good three to five minutes of this silence. the voices of passer-by drift in and out, small snippets of conversation cut like ribbons:
'oh, i heard on the upper.... do you ...'
'tea? but... i don't...'
'i ne.... wand... cut my thumbs.'
the person holding the device doesn't speak, even then. but finally, a voice emerges: feminine, monotone.]
...
...
He's not here.
[click.]
'oh, i heard on the upper.... do you ...'
'tea? but... i don't...'
'i ne.... wand... cut my thumbs.'
the person holding the device doesn't speak, even then. but finally, a voice emerges: feminine, monotone.]
...
...
He's not here.
[click.]