The village was starting to get tired of their medium, Matilda. She sat down on the stone steps and watched the shallow, brown creek slither past her feet. She couldn’t see her reflection, but wondered if anything in the water could see her. She didn’t want to be seen.
She was once a revered figure in the village due to her special abilities. She gave voice to the villagers’ dead relatives, allowed the community to make amends with their elders. Closure. However, there were other spirits that floated along the homes. She knew little about them, but all whispered warnings. Warnings of what she wasn’t exactly sure, but it was grave. However, the villagers weren’t too keen on this; they preferred she talk about how grandma missed baking cheesecake.
But the voices came to her. Like the rest of the village, she began to curse her gifts. She sighed and wished she would just disappear into the water that moved so slowly, so peacefully by her.
Eventually, the voices dimmed. Not only the spirits whispering their warnings faded, but so too the other dead villagers. She missed not being able to hear the joys and sorrows of past villagers, but she found contentment in living a humble life. However, sometimes, a murmur would come underneath the curtains, drifting beneath the purple light of evening. Her skin would turn cold. The words would be too faint to decipher, but she somehow knew what they meant. But the following morning she would walk through the village, silently, and simply share smiles with everyone, and allow the sun to sink into her arms.