About Hearing Beauty

by Mike Shade
38 pages / 12500 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-111-2, 1-60370-111-7
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

In a world where beauty is prized, Toby is blind. His parents have protected him from the world, but despair about what will become of him as he is useless, broken.

Along comes Derik, a spy who was caught and spent years being tortured before escaping and returning home. Scared and ugly, even his voice was changed by his experiences. He too, is broken.

So what happens when the young man who can't see with his eyes falls in love with the raspy growl that is Derik's voice? What happens when Toby's presence is the only thing that keeps Derik's demons at bay? Will the world let these two broken men make a whole? Find out in Hearing Beauty.

Sample

Toby sat in the window sill that overlooked the garden. The gauzy curtains that hid him from view blew against him, slid over his skin in the breeze from the open window. It was sunny and warm, the breeze just enough to keep it from being hot. The curtains, white and bright from the sunshine, were all he could see.

He was listening to the gathering, listening to the voices and the laughter, the occasional shout. Some were like bells, light and airy, others were heavier, stronger. Each one was different, unique. Each one painted a picture in his head, shape and color. Some were familiar, the ones he knew; others were folk he'd never met, and he tilted his head, letting the pictures form from the sounds as he listened.

He rocked slowly, fingers reaching out to play with the curtains. The gauze scratched along his skin like tiny nettles, distracting him from the voices, making them fade into a noise that slid around him without touching him.

Until one voice broke against him, like a wave, splashing him from head to toe, demanding his attention. He gasped, eyelids fluttering, body trembling at the sound. It was as if every sound the man uttered was a great effort, feet walking on broken glass or sand rubbed in against a wound.

Toby gripped the curtains in his hands, fingers curling as he leaned forward, body tight and hard, tense. More.

He couldn't make out the words, the voice was too low for that, it didn't drift up to his window the way the others did, but he could hear the tone and rough slide of it. It made him shiver, made him want to reach out and touch.

The colors that the voice brought to him were dark, black and the deep blue of midnight and the shape was like a pair of giant wings.

Then it was gone and, breathless, he strained, listening intently, but the voice was gone.