|Silence took the Noise
Author: Archia PM
Sometimes silence is nicerRated: Fiction K - English - Words: 362 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 02-29-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3001537
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
As silky threads made their whispers of faith known throughout the dawn, a silent toll clangs wistfully. It buries its sounds far off in the reaches of the world's very soul.
People listen, they can do nothing else, at their hearts mourn for the silence. The silence that captured them. That tore away what they had once had, had once depended on. Sound. No, not sounds, it did not take away that. Noise. Silence took the noise.
It began, with hurried glances and questioning looks. No one knew who to blame. At first, they did not realise the difference. They saw peace in the new found quiet. Silence had begun to take control. Little by little, people began enjoying the lack of noise. It was simple noise at first, clatter. But as that went, they found other noise to annoy their ears. And so it went on, until silence reigned though its unbarred land. The people believed they had found victory, by destroying the thing they so hated. And when it was gone, they could not remember what it was to miss it. So the people brought silence to them, and noise was forgotten. Silence reigned for many years, whilst noise was unwritten from books. It did not take long, to be forgotten as a myth.
But now, to hear a noise breaking through the silence, to hear with their helpless ears. It had returned. Noise. And they look without understanding, to see where this new thing had come from. A baby, crying. The mother, even, looks on in fear. But then, one child, who did not understand the quiet commotion around her, spoke. And though she did not speak in words, for she knew none to say, a noise gurgled from her mouth. Her joy would not be silence. People began to mimic her, the baby soon drowned out by the clatter around. Noise took the silence.
In time, people began to speak, words forming with the movement of lips. And as noise returned, silence was forgotten, a myth now.
Troubles returned, here and there. But it was beautiful troubles, and beauty is the most precious thing one can have.