Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • On the subway platform I realize suddenly how quiet everything has become. It’s been exactly 92 hours and 28 minutes since I lost my hearing. And 22 minutes since the doctors revealed its permanence.

    Thing is, I’ve never believed in permanence. As a kid the permanent pen marks on my shirt always magically disappeared, summers ended, pets would come and go, and eventually my parent’s marriage dissolved.

    Permanent hearing loss? What does that mean?

    Though, as the train arrives the memory of its screeching brakes floods my hearing so loudly I still don’t believe it’s gone.

    Words: 96
    Time: 25 minutes
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.