A Psalm Of Storms And Silence Novels & Stories

I uttered then like a lightning he stormed to my standpoint and pulled me against the wall with his both arms cornering me. What is this? What’s with his cold face? Icy attitude and sudden movement? Is this his response to what I did to him earlier? or is this another page of my life that I need to bravely face? [Read Cloud and Star's full story on the upcoming Book #2 The Loudest Scream]

She longed for the chaos of conversation, the rhythm of communication, yet the emptiness remained, heavy and suffocating. It was in the quiet of one particularly lonely evening, rain pattering against the window, that Amara finally understood the truth. Silence was not neutral. Silence was a force, a pressure that demanded action. It was not the absence of words, but the presence of a choice deferred, a mirror held up to the heart, forcing her to confront what she truly wanted.

The water was clear enough for me to see every rock that covered the bottom of it, every color could be seen. "Subhanallah" I whispered as I heard birds chirping around me. The first time I talked my throat felt like sandpaper no one said a word when it came to my past, they knew it all from going through the journal that had been my only companion in the darkness I came from, I didn't say anything when Myra returned the journal to me with tears in her eyes and I looked away from the sympathetic gazes of my family.

His words struck deep within me, a declaration that felt like both salvation and damnation. For a moment, the silence between us stretched long and thick. It wasn’t the kind of silence that clung to the air like smoke after a fight. No, this was the kind of silence that always comes before a storm. The kind where you know the winds are shifting, and you can feel the crackling tension in the atmosphere. The kind where everything is about to change.

I don't have a body anymore, I am a spirit. It's as if I've been beleaguered by thousands of armies. I can't see them. I can feel them looming closer and closer. I shrink back and let out a blood curdling scream, like a siren. Only that I'm not leading anyone to destruction, I, myself am walking through a path of destruction. Why is silence so noisy?

The hammers slowed to a steady, rhythmic thrum—the heartbeat of a mountain that had just won its first breath of freedom. ​The Surgeon lay still on the floor, its parchment-like skin blackened by the intensity of our noise. It looked up at me with a newfound, terrifying respect. ​"You... have... become the... Storm," it whispered. "The Silence... will... avoid... this... frequency. For now." ​Killian stood at the edge of the ward, his spear tip resting on the ground. He looked out the shattered windows at a sky that was finally, truly black—not with the void, but with the honest dark of night.

"Your finger." He took a step to the side. "Stretch your arms apart." He asked her and she obeyed immediately. The wind gently blew her hair off her face, she felt it between her fingers. "What is that?" He whispered now close to her ear, so that a pleasant shiver ran over her entire body. "The wind." "Do you see the wind?" She shook her head and looked at him. "You don't see the wind, but you can feel it, it's there." She nodded and he continued. "And so I feel that Jesus is always with me."

She sung through the intense electric shocks radiating down her neck and body “Here comes a wave….Meant to wash me away…..A tide that is taking me under...Swallowing sand….Left with nothing to say…My voice drowned out in the thunder….But I won't cry….And I won't start to crumble…..Whenever they try…To shut me or cut me down….I won't be silenced…..You can't keep me quiet…..Won't tremble when you try it…..All I know is I won't go speechless….’Cause I'll breathe….When they try to suffocate me…..Don't you underestimate me….’Cause I know that I won't go speechless….Written in stone…..Every rule, every word….Centuries old and unbending…..Stay in your place…..Better seen and not heard…..But now tha

"We end this. Now." And I believed him. Because when a storm has gone on too long, even silence becomes a scream. And we were done screaming.

[When A Name Bleeds] “The truth does not scream. It whispers—until it hurts.” The storm did not arrive with thunder. It arrived with silence. A silence so thick it made the air feel heavy, so tense it pressed against Panni’s skin like an invisible hand. The penthouse lights were dim, throwing long shadows across the floor. The city beyond the windows glittered like a world that had no idea a quiet disaster was unfolding behind glass. Panni stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring at the phone in her hands.