It followed her everywhere.

The sound.

The sound of yellow chalk and the woman’s red faulty nails being scraped against the dry blackboard.

And it wouldn’t leave.

All night, all day she heard the screeching.

When she tried to go to sleep at night, and covered her ears with every pillow she had, it was like it was being done right there in her room. When she wandered throughout her house blankly, trying to go on and ignore it…it was still there.

Her family stared at her as she hobbled around mumbling to herself, grabbing things off of shelves and tables and running them against walls in a hypnotic motion.

And when they asked what was wrong she shook her head and walked away.

Her friends came to visit her. They were concerned and asked what was wrong. She dismissed them like her family. They shook their heads and left.

And then she went silent. She said nothing, merely resuming her daily routine from before but with no words.

Because it had become suffocating.

It muffled every other noise—the car engines, the chirping birds, the water gushing down the drain, the worried voices of her family and friends. Gone. Snuffed out like a candle.

So she tried to concentrate on it. Maybe, if she thought about the sound enough, it would go away.

When had she last heard it?

She thought hard, she racked her brain. Fri..day, she said to herself at last. Which Friday? How many weeks? Too…too many weeks…two weeks. Two weeks…no, three. Three weeks ago on Friday…

Where had she last heard it? Where? Where exactly…? No…not at home…not someplace nice, someplace quiet…some kind of different space…

The concern grew as the days went by. She stayed in her room more and more and soon fell into an odd state. Not responding. Not moving.

Where…where exactly…have I heard it…

Screech.

Maybe, if I had a job…I could have heard it…writing things on a board…a bulletin board…

Screech.

And so she was whisked away. To a white place.

A kind of job…she wants a job. She wants…she is…a friend? A best friend? My best friend…who wants a job…a job…a job with kids…

Screech.

And as everything went black, they poked and prodded her like an animal in a zoo, trying to bring her back to reality.

“What’s…wrong with her?”

“Will she always be like this? Will she be…normal again?”

“Can my baby come home to me for Christmas?!”

“Is she gonna die?”

She recognized the last voice. Shrill and coming from a place much lower than her.

Screech.

A kid? A child…a child I know…

“But-but who’ll play Xbox with me when you guys are at work?”

Work…jobs…children…did they give me this sound?

Screech…

“Yes…coming from a place ye dare not tread,” responded the child’s voice, mocking something sounding like a pirate.

Dare ye not tread…?

“She...she answered. Sweetie! What did you say? Say it again! Now!”

“The sound…it comes from that place the sailors all dread…” The child’s voice was more confident this time.

Sailors…? What kind of sailors…? Sailor of plume? A nom de plume…

There was silence. She was afraid the sound had come back to drown out everything--

“Sailors have all the time in the world for writing. And so will you.”

Writing is for what? Writing is for…school.

And the black enveloped around her vanished.

And the outside noises around her reappeared.

And the sound vanished.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“You’ll be okay. I know you will.” Her friend smiled at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be? The doctors said everything will be fine as long as I never hear that sound again,” she muttered.

Her friend just laughed. “And you get special treatment because of it.” She pushed open the door labeled “Cultural Studies 101.”

A lump formed in her throat. They promised to give her classes she hadn’t had before, to make sure she’d see a fresh crowd and not get ridiculed, but this seemed oddly familiar to her…

“Oh, why hello, Miss Kelly,” said the teacher, craning her neck towards the door, putting one hand on her hip. One hand…attatched to fingers…fingers with long red nails.

“It’s so nice to see you again. Welcome back.”

Screech.