Our hero finds that the world has gone silent.
The sounds of ultimate suffering are upon us. The sound of a lone wolf as he cries to the stillness of the night, or a small child that cries in the dark; fearing the monsters under it’s bed. These are the sounds of nighttime at it’s best. Every time the sun goes down the world lapses into suffering. Weather those who are sick die, or the pain and anguish not present during the day is brought about by the moonlight one will never know.
To tell you simply. the sounds that one hears in the dark are different for everyone. I am sure most people hear cars, bugs, and things of that sort, but if you listen; really listen there are little discrepancies one hears. The neighbor’s dog perhaps, or the wind chimes the woman on the corner hung, or even the chatter of the rabbits in your friends rosebushes. These are the kinds of sounds that not everyone simply hears.
On that night, the one needing to be mentioned, I heard none of the above sounds. Nothing. The wind had silenced the trees, who silenced the people, who silenced their cars, and the world was quiet. Just simple still. If I needed to recall how I felt that evening, it was somewhere between slightly frostbitten and slightly contemplative, I let the contemplative state win over; opting to turn on the heater. Such things aside, I ambled over to my deck, sliding the door open with a greasy palm. These nights had grown cold, the frost settling in like a cat by a farmers fire. it’s gradual stretch and release method made some days slightly warm while other bitter cold. Tonight was a frosty one, my windows caked with snowy icing. The crystals clung together like small collective magnets.
The absence of sound struck me as weird. I listened, but heard a simple trill of stillness, A breath of wind, nothing more. Strange, That I did think there was anything worth listening to. I decided before I froze once more, I should bring myself back inside and throw the curtains on the windows. Preferring to slumber in my hallowed sanctuary of humid darkness, should even the sun try to wake me.
There I allowed myself to think, not think but imagine. I curled up into my bedclothes and pulled the pillow closer to me, fearing the worst. The softness of my pillow and the old snoring cat of mine made my subconscious mind fight for control. As I stared at the ceiling I wondered why the world had been silenced.