Gabrielle Rife

The Silence

Atticus couldn’t resist snickering loudly, looking at the faded image of a woman plastered on the face of the billboard near strangled by overgrowth. It jutted out of the mass of trees oddly like a sore thumb. Though faded it had somehow been spared other destructive hallmarks from the fall of civilization - no rust marks, jagged edges of metal, not even tears in its picture. He could easily make out the gentle slope of chin. The delicate way her fingers brushed at her collarbone. A subtle enticement for any onlooker to invest their hard-earned wealth into the golden heart-shaped locket adorning the woman's neck.