Very few people have experienced complete and utter silence. And a very small percentage of these people have experienced it enough for it to take effect.

I was always a quiet person, but prone to science and experimenting. Of course, I haven't dabbled in the fine art of science as much as others, being so poor. When they had come to me with an experiment, I thought, "What have I got to lose?"

I had a lot to lose.

They gave me loose, white clothing and told me to remain calm. I remember the distinct noise of the helicopter as it landed dangerously close to us. They ushered me inside, and I looked out the window the whole way to the experiment. I waved goodbye to my hometown as we passed, and kept my eyes wide at the new sights.

We had arrived at the Sahara, where they left me without human contact. They set up camp, with enough food and water for a week. There I remained for one hundred sixty-seven and a half hours, almost exactly seven days.

I counted. I still remember those numbers.

Everything around me was silent, except for the occasional sound of nature. Eventually, different people appeared at my camp.

"Hello," they greeted me as I woke up. Finally, human contact. They were strange, had weird clothing, and never ate. But I didn't care; they spoke to me.

The world around me grew louder. The silence was finally over! The wind laughed it's silvery laugh at me; the sand chuckled it's pity. And the people grew weirder. The sky was green, the sun was purple. But it was all real contact. And I was content with it.

The people from before picked me up in the helicopter. One hundred sixty-seven and a half hours later. There, they realized that my good desert friends had gotten onto the helicopter.

"Who are you talking to?" They asked.

"My friends." I insisted, and ignored the judgmental looks they shot at me. My friends told me it would all be okay, and I trusted them. After all, they took care of me in the desert.

When I got back to the city, the buses groaned as I didn't say hello; the people's footsteps clapped for my return. My friends followed me, and people didn't seem to notice them. They gave me the same judgmental looks when I spoke to them.

My friends didn't care if I was homeless. Why should I pay attention to the people that judge me when I have such wonderful people with me at all times? My wonderful, faithful friends.

One day, I told a man I met about my friends. He asked me where I met them, and I told him all about my great adventures.

He took me to this wonderful little place. It was a bit dirty, but they took me in. They gave me this nice little room with white walls, and told me that my friends would stay with me there.

They put bars on my doors and windows, and told me that my friends asked for them.

My silly little friends. How funny they could be!

I am fed well here, and my friends speak to me every day. I'm very, very comfortable here.

Fifty-seven seconds.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine.

"Hello?" The man in the white jacket said to me, checking up on me.

I looked up from my corner, offended.

"You've interrupted my counting!" I replied, then continued:

Two hundred and forty hours, and exactly six minutes.

Six minutes, one second.

Two seconds.


The End

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