I
The moon glowed and grew until it began plummeting from the sky. It was impregnated with magic. Behind our moon was another that floated to a nearby window. Stardust faded and spun into the child’s bedroom until they flooded the space. Green and wrinkled creatures faded into existence. With a snap, they banished the stars away and stared at the child in the center. The child cooed and yawned. It shook its fists as it slumbered.
The creature smiled, leaning into the taller creature. “Humans are strange,” one creature said. “Why would they place their own in a barred box?”
He shrugged, shifting the smallest creature in his arms. They had a job. Sands slipped and slid down the glass his mate held. Once the star rose with the sun, they’d be stranded on Earth and only one of them could stay. It might as well be their child.
“They would do a better job of caring for our child than we could,” the taller one said.
Both crept forwards, staring down at the child. It turned in its sleep and grabbed a handful of blankets in its fist. The child’s mouth widened into a cry. Now, no one would know what this voice sounded like; the records were lost to time, space, and dimension long ago. What is known is that the creatures wanted this child’s sound.
“But why do you want the voice?”
“Think of how beautiful our changeling will seem if its voice sounded like a violin.”
“That’s not our job.”
“We’re being kind to these humans; our friends are stealing children, but we’re taking this child’s voice. She won’t be voiceless, either. It’s an exchange, one voice for another.”
This procedure was supposed to be painless. The creature drummed its fingers, they were spiders as it dragged its nail across the child’s throat. The other forced the child’s mouth open. It pinched the air. It pulled a glowing thread from the human’s throat. At the end was a spark singing its song and whispering its secrets. By comparison, the changling’s voice was a guttural gurgle and swamp green. The gurgle scratched and clawed in the child’s throat, trying to claw its way out. Somehow it knew it didn’t belong in here.
And there was nothing except silence.
The creatures clapped, summoning sparks that would send them back home. Outside the moon fell and the sun shone in its place. Quickly, the star rose behind it.
II
“What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you talk right?”
“Will you just hush?”
“I’m going to leave you alone, ‘cause I can’t hear you.”
“Why don’t you speak?”
Charcoal-colored clouds collected overhead. Where was the line that split one cloud from the other? Did the gods decide that the colors should be erased? Even the grass lost its hue to the clouds. A hill sloped down into a ditch. Concrete buildings loomed above the girl standing there. Earlier, my friend told her to meet her outside because “I have something to tell you.” From here, the others traced the lines of the two girls outside. M, the jagged-haired girl, strode up to me with a line etched onto her face instead of a smile. Since the spring term began, she and our shared friends ignored me. Some smiled and waved back when I greeted them, but M held her silence. After all, words were reserved for the worthy, but hearing anything was better than silence.
“We took a vote and you’re out,” the jagged-haired girl said.
No feeling. No laughter. No secret jokes at others’ expense. Replaced were her brown, stone eyes. A spell was cast, and all were invisible.
“What did I do wrong?” I said, “I’ll fix it.”
I never got an answer.
The cafeteria was crowded with people. One line snaked from the exit to the cashier. Each clique were bushels of apples, plucked, shined, and arranged perfectly. There was no room for an outsider. I had to have hope, after all, my friends sat at our corner table like they did every day. I must have misheard my friend yesterday. Who kicks their friend out without giving a reason? The line dragged on. Eventually, the cooks slapped odd mush onto my tray. My quarters jangled and clinked when I handed my money to the cashier. All that was left was to meet my friends at our table.
We’d laugh at bad movies. We’d whisper how our essays were unfair. We’d vote on whose house we were going to after school. There’d be gossip and giggles over teen heartthrobs. I said the right things, nodded when she said that a girl needed to be “taught a lesson.” I couldn’t have done anything wrong to deserve being voted out. No. I misread her words and M would invite me back in like always.
That didn’t happen and I couldn’t tell which hurt more: a stranger’s cruelty or a friend’s cruelty.
When I sat down, Macey stood up. She swiped up her tray in her hands. She stared at our friend. Macey waved her free hand, motioning for the others to mimic her. And they did. A cold breeze spun around Macey as she turned her back toward me. Their trays were cluttered on the table next to mine. They chattered and munched on their lunch. They laughed. They traded jokes and secrets that I wasn’t a part of. At least I wasn’t invisible, Macey glared at me, but the silence snowed around me.
“We took a vote and you’re out.”
If my words didn’t matter if they meant so little, then why bother speaking?
III
Imagine you’re kneeling on a mountain. Pine needles flew in the wind. Branches fought to break free from their trees. A grumbling sound ripples out from the rocks beneath you. Your heart pounds to the beat. Stones dig into your palms as the bass guitar roar to a crescendo. A rumbling grows inside your belly. The music rides the waves and flows toward your throat. Instead of a weak voice, you growl the notes of fire. You can force people to listen. Anger is fine. Metal is the answer. You can sing dragon fire yet still act like a siren. Masculinity offers refuge; femininity offers escape.
