Emily Ann Rose

The Tuesday Hum

The sky began humming on a Tuesday. It wasn’t a loud sound, not at first. It was a low, mechanical vibration that settled over the neighborhood like background music no one had selected. It buzzed faintly in the teeth and rattled the window glass in the guest bedroom. By noon, the birds had stopped singing, and by dinner, the clouds had turned a stagnant, bruised purple that didn’t move with the wind.