Girl

The little girl who lives downstairs has moved away. Her Father and Mother took her and her brother to some other place. We don't know where they went. We never talked to them, never knew their names.

Since she was born five or six years ago, the little girl has filled the stairway with tantrums of joy, pain, curiosity... a full spectrum of voices reverberated and filled the old building. It was like living in someone else's brain, thinking their thoughts, feeling them seep in through the walls.

As the years went on we grew more accustomed to the noise. Eventually we came to enjoy it, like birdsong from a nest on the sill.

Soon her voice found its way onto our recordings. It became an increasingly important part of our work, and a pleasant part of the fabric of our everyday life.

Now she's gone, and Myrmidon will be her last appearance.