dying static hum

A stunned comedian appears in the dampening field. The flat trickster comes forward and addresses the audience.

“You know what the comedian’s fear is.”
“Hecklers!”, comes the reply, “or, writer’s block!”
“No…”, the trickster says, still expressionless,
“it’s playing to a dead room.”
With perhaps a smile, the trickster points to the swarm

of fairy folk swirling overhead. They sing hypnotic lullabies, and when the land trembles with song they set about crop dusting the field with magic.

In the swarm’s wake orbs dance and fall and merge into fuzzy suggestions. At crescendo the sparkling nebula explodes revealing the secret message.

Night falls black and silent.

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