Yes, these are the cicadas. These are the real ones; they are not the kind that torment my dreams. I hear those ones at night most times, taunting me. It is nice to hear the real ones now. It is almost as if they are saying 'I am sorry. I am sorry that my freakish cousins have caused you so much pain. But we are here now, so it is okay'.
Their sound drowns out the other cicadas, the ones in my head, so I can sleep at last. This is why I always sleep better in the summers. Because as soon as the winter comes, and these cicadas die, their relatives will return to haunt me. They always have.
My name is Julie Adamson, and I see things that nobody should.
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Cicadas
Short StoryJulie Adamson knew that her uncle was going to die. She saw the car hit the tree before it happened. Only, at age five, she didn't understand what the premonition meant. Not until it was too late, at least. Since that day, Julie has never been the s...
