When-Darkness-comes

I. It is Summer and Cecelia dreams of Magpies. Omens flock to her at midnight -- another night, another nightmare -- dark wings crowd her and she is increasingly claustrophobic. The winged visions never let her sleep for long. Cecelia wakes with a start, heart hammering against the walls of her chest. She still hears their croaking calls. Buzzing about her brain is a relic from her childhood, learned and abandoned on the playground, the words emerging from the depths of time like cicadas refusing to be silenced: The Magpie Divination Rhyme. One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret, Never to be told. She looks over at her husband, and longs to wake him, to give his shoulders a shake, but pulls her hand back. What would she say that she hasn’t said already? What could she say aloud that she can’t say to herself, that only her dreams can articulate?