Illustrated Series #85

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Are You The Voice I Heard Telling Me Not To Board That Flight?

In the year 2108, the world had evolved in unimaginable ways, but Clia Daponte, a 22-year-old musician with raven black hair and a distinctive brown streak up front on one side, still cherished the relics of the past.

Among her prized possessions was an old portrait of her great-grandmother, Clia Foster, who had turned 100 on the very day she was born. Her mother, Greta Faulkner, had felt like this was some kind of good omen, and she was also named Clia.

She stroked at one of her raven locks with the hand that bore the same shooting star her great-grandmother had tattooed on her wrist. Unlike her younger siblings, Clia had a few vivid memories of her great-grandmother, who had lived to be 105 years old, dying a couple days after Christmas Day the year Clia had turned five.

One quiet evening, as Clia Daponte stood in front of the portrait, she took a closer look at the younger version of her great-grandmother whom she had been named in honor of. As she gazed into the painting's faded eyes, something inexplicable happened. She began to hear a faint whisper, like a distant melody in the wind.

Clia's heart raced, and she rubbed her eyes, thinking it was a figment of her imagination. But the voice persisted, growing louder and clearer. "Clia," it said, soft and nostalgic, "it's me, your great-grandmother Clia Foster."

She froze in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening. Her great-grandmother had passed away in 2090, when Clia Daponte was just five years old. How could she be hearing her voice now, 18 years after her passing? Panicked, Clia glanced around the room, half-expecting to see a holographic projection or some other futuristic trickery at play. But there was nothing out of the ordinary, only the dim glow of the street lights of Luna Vista seeping through the window. It was just her and the old portrait.

"Am I losing my mind?" Clia whispered, her voice trembling.

"Wait a minute…you can hear me?” The voice of her great-grandmother said. This did not seem to help Clia out at all.

“Who the spank is that?”

Her mother, Greta, who had been temporarily staying with Clia after she’d checked out of the mental wellness center a few weeks earlier, rushed up to her side. “Clia, are you all right?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Clia shrugged her shoulders. “It’s fine.”

Greta could not hear the voice, but elected not to respond in any way. Her first-born daughter had been through a lot of stress since narrowly avoiding being a passenger on a flight that crashed shortly after takeoff, killing everyone on board.

“I don’t know if it’s really you or if my mind’s just that spanking gone at this point.”

Again, Greta did not judge as she listened to Clia talk to someone her mother could neither see nor hear.

“You were one of the voices telling me not to board that flight…” Clia finally murmured.

“I wasn’t sure if you could hear me…and I knew what I was risking on this site…maybe even a 50-year stint in Hell…but I had to try.”

Overwhelmed with emotions, Clia felt a profound connection to her great-grandmother, a bond that spanned generations. As the voice faded, she wiped away tears, grateful for the extraordinary experience. Though shaken, Clia realized that this encounter was a gift, and it would probably not be the last time they spoke at all.

Nobody's Property illustrated series is published on nobodysproperty.com by Blake Hutchison dba Sansevieria Media. All rights reserved.

© Nobody's Property Illustrated Series, copyright 2018- | all rights reserved. This illustrated series is for entertainment purposes only. Please do not attempt any homicidal, vigilante, or other illegal acts.