Not just in the way that sight naturally adjusted in the dark. It was clearer, too clear. I had somehow stepped closer to the scenes without moving at all.
I could make out the faded silver coating of the streetlights, the subtle sway of an old porch swing, the flicker of movement behind curtained windows, the creases on the skin of passing strangers.
A dull pressure settled behind my eyes, like a harsh whisper scratching against the inside of my skull and it itched.
Then the sounds came.
Dampened and muffled at first, like voices heard underwater, indistinct but present. A wooden door creaking open, a burst of obnoxious laughter from a group walking home, a low conversation threading through the air.
“...definitely here...“
“...yellow doesn't go with green...“
“...Tess is such a b*
