Fiction: 'Silence Speaks' by M Teresa Clayton

Silence Speaks

By M Teresa Clayton

Silence stood motionless in the doorway, observing the room, patient, , unnoticed, undetectable to the others in the room, as people passed by without acknowledgement or, worse, passed right through it as if, by chance, it inhabited another dimension that only I, sitting here watching it watching us, was aware.

The din from the chaos in the room had reached a crescendo that seemed to have no ceiling; no definitive apex. The silence made no motion, gave no hint that it would advance or retreat, it stood unmoved and without the slightest hint of its intention - supposing it had one.

I could not take my eyes off of it. It held me captive with its occult being, its arcane presence, what appeared as absolute weightlessness; no particular height or depth, no indication of mass or weight, nothing that would give the remotest indication of holding a place in time or space.

Yet, I was enchanted, spellbound, held in some ethereal rapture. The room began to lose some of its revelers as they passed through silence and left the echoes of their raucous laughter in the hallways that led to the street below and beyond.

It waited. I waited. It did not move. I did not move. It watched us and I watched it watching us.

Finally, the last of the guests passed by me, offering their gratitude for hosting such a great party and looking at me as I remained silent and steady, never taking my eyes off of the silence. I felt a kiss upon my forehead from whomever she and, out of my peripheral vision, I caught a wave goodbye. The door shut behind them, the drunken remnants of the celebration heading down the street. That is when I became aware of the sudden lack of sound.

Silence raised its arms above its head, no hands were visible but, from the ends of its arm came a soft visual blurring that encompassed everything as it made its way around the room; everything but me. I remained just as I always was, yet the room and everything in it looked as if a child had made an effort to erase these images from the paper. Had it been a photograph, it would seem as if it had aged 50 years lying on the ground outdoors, where the elements were slowly erasing the memories carried in the image upon it.

I could not hear a thing outside of my head, but I was suddenly aware of the loud thoughts shooting helter-skelter around inside of my mind. I could hear my thoughts as they vied for my attention; one thought squealing louder than the other.

Finally, I looked up at the silence and into the blankness that would have held its face and sent out one thought - “Please”, I asked, “silence the thoughts. I want to know what you are, I want to be like you.”

The thought of having total silence seemed impossible, yet, at that moment I could no longer hear my own thoughts, though I knew them, I could no longer see the room, yet I imagined it still there, I could no longer sense anything, yet, I was aware.

Remember this above all else, this plane is made up of more nothingness than mass, and in this nothingness is where a person's pseudo-existence takes place. They believe that what their senses perceive is all there is.

Some will see you and wait - just as you did for me. Others will never notice silence until it resonates within their ears as a high-pitched frequency. They will fight it. You must be patient. Eventually, they will no longer notice the frequency or the pitch, they will not take notice of the vibrations that warp their sensory perceptions. They will not expect the nothingness that will surround them and they will not want to let go of this... hologram they have created for themselves.

Now, let go of your reality here, free yourself from the bones and the skin that have been your identity, rise and follow me. Where we are going is where we are.