The first light of dawn crept into the town as a furtive thief breaks through dewdrops upon autumn grass. Hollow echoes whispered tumultuous tales washed over by twilight—a sky canvas brushed by isolation, where colors succumbed to muted tones of grey.
Johanna had always known the screams existed, hidden beneath the paver bricks she walked upon; interred within walls that heard without a heart or hope. The voices shuddered fragments of silken litanies no one else could bear witness to, or so they claimed.
But isolation could neither comfort nor confound her more than already had. In this burgeoning light, she resolved her own silent scream, an epiphany both soft yet yardstick-true to chest-piercing burdens. Would she find the key? Was it buried amongst the 'breathless echoes' stated by frail neighbors in the rising sun?
Awakening dawn did more than glow; it managed yet once, as it had since their inception, crucible-chained all things existent into uncertain persistences.