Forbidden Voices

By TunnelsOfTheSouth

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Framed

My world is a plain wooden photo frame. That way I am able to stand on my owner's desk. I feel safe here. I sit proudly among other more expensive frames, some of silver. But I am secure amongst my fellows, because I know I am loved.

Once I was old and unadorned. Wrinkled and blank, without words or beauty. I had been discarded for being of no worth and ever less use.

But I was found and reborn as an invitation and a message of love. Behind the glass of my frame, my slightly creased face displays a crayon drawing of a stringed instrument and a bow. My invitation is my voice, with the words, "You Are Invited," printed in a child's handwriting beneath my drawing.

I have sat in my frame, on the desk, for uncounted sunrises and sunsets. Even if I could measure time, I could not tell you how long I have stood there.

The beautiful woman who received me, and loved me enough to frame me before standing me here, handles me no longer. She is gone from this place; I do not know where. I sit, and I wait patiently for her return. But she does not come back.

The lion-faced man, who once saved me from oblivion, and gave me to the beautiful woman, also comes to this place, no more. His arriving shadow no longer falls across me from beyond the balcony doors to this room.

For many sunrises now, I have sat in my frame and waited. For what I could not tell you. I wait and I hope to see them both again, one day. I love them as much as they love me. What else can I do, but wait?

You see, I was once one brick in the bridge that had been built between their two worlds, and I am so very proud of my small part in keeping them together. I do not know why, or when, or how, they were forced apart. But it saddens me, because I am a cherished memory of another time, and another place.

But now, here comes yet another sunrise and another day. But this time it is different. A woman who is not my owner, appears in the room, and then at my desk. She stands there, studying me, and my fellows. She sits in the chair and looks at each of us, in turn. As if we are all parts of some complex puzzle she must solve.

Suddenly she selects me, lifting me in my frame, and stares at me. Without a thought, she turns my frame over, and opens the back. I have no voice and no defence against such a bold invasion of my privacy. She removes me from my safe place and unfolds me.

She reads my contents aloud, the loving message that had been written inside me so long ago. My message had been penned in a bold, inked script. It is as fresh as the day it was inscribed there. It was placed inside me by the lion-faced man who no longer comes here. He wrote it as a message for the woman he adored. The woman who owned me, the lady who does not live here anymore.

This new woman who holds me now, lifts me to the light and reads my message out loud.

"The children are giving a concert tonight.

Meet me below at the threshold.

Vincent."

A puzzled frown creases her brow. She lowers me, and stares at some faraway place only she can see. She shakes her head, before lifting me again and reading my message anew, halting at the end to wonder, "Threshold, Below…"

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