Novel & Cerita Quiet Person Has The Loudest Mind

“I’m not really in a laughing mood.” “No, you’re not, are you?” She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and her voice drops into something almost conspiratorial, almost kind. “I used to do it. Sitting quiet, trying to reach down into yourself for the still place. My grandmother taught me. She was — well, she was a difficult woman, my grandmother; she’d come from out east, and she kept the old ways, and half the family thought she was mad. But she knew things. About quieting the mind. About reaching the parts of yourself that don’t speak in words.” She studies my face. “And I watched you out there, sweetheart, and I’ll be honest with you, because nobody else in this house will — your form was

Be good and it will all be alright. Liam was the same way. It was always worse when he was quiet. When the man was loud and boisterous, the most she had to worry about was his insults or sexual comments. Loud Liam, talkative Liam, those were him in a good mood. There was nothing that man loved more than hearing the sound of his own voice. Quiet Liam was dangerous. Quiet Liam meant pack your bags and book a hotel for the next few days. It meant schedule work so you have an excuse to not be home with him. It meant run.

They had been in this business for too long to be fools. They knew that in this world, the quietest man was often the most dangerous. The man who sat and waited was often the man who laughed last. And Hades was the quietest man in the room. He was the one who was waiting. And the world was about to find out just how dangerous that could be.

His eyes never wavered from the papers he was reading, his lips in a thin line as he ignored me. He gestured to the seat in front of him, urging me to sit. I held my breath as I sat down, the soft plush of the chair squeaking with my weight. "You're oddly quiet" My eyes narrowed elsewhere, well that was a first. I fought the lump in my throat as I spoke. "Excuse me?" He plopped the papers down, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples. "The people before you never kept their mouth shut once they entered my office" His attention was on me now, direct and unflinching, how could he stay so calm? "But I like the quiet ones, usually they're screaming inside their heads" Well, he got that right,

she growls after a few minutes. " What did I just say ?" she snaps at me as I look at her with a frown. " Its so quiet." I whisper. " Wh-" " So quiet. Quietness means peace. Is it peaceful ?" I ask looking at her curiously. " Yes , its peaceful." she says offering me a fake smile. " I hate it when it's too quiet in my head , I never know what those fuckers are planning." I whisper as she clears her throat looking towards the door.

​The transition to a quiet life had been successful, or so we told ourselves. Our cottage, perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Zaros Sea, was isolated enough to feel like a sanctuary. But silence in our world was rarely an end to the story; it was usually just a pause. ​It started on a Tuesday night. The coastal town of Oakhaven was quiet, the only sound of the rhythmic pulse of the tide against the rocks below. Julian was in the small shed we used for repairs, fiddling with an antique shortwave radio he had salvaged from a local scrap heap. He liked the static—he said it reminded him of the white noise he used to hear when he was linked to the network.

crestfallen souls' muffled cries, voluble minds of the wide awake who appears to be nocturnal, and mysteries that emerge when the world is in deep dark shadow They're to blame for how deafening silence can be at times. "You're quiet" I said. "Silence isn't quiet." he responded. I looked at him immediately. "The parting of vanilla clouds from the sky isn't as quiet as silence. The banging of hammer and thunder is not silence, but the banging of hammer and thunder. Silence is a yearning attention, not a reserve emotion. It's the sound of lungs gasping for air while barely breathing. It's the kind of chest that tears itself away from your ribcage, yearning to be heard and assured.."

His mom asked and he could only part his lips in silence as he stared at his messed up plate. “Would something light be better?” As they whispered amongst themselves... "Probably, he doesn't seem to enjoy swallowing." "Would something hot do? Paige says she likes something hot when she's weak." Their voices were getting a little to loud for him. "Tea?" “That doesn't sound too bad.” And without thinking fast, the words left his mouth before he could hold it back. “Could you all please be quiet for a minute, I said I'm fine.” A cold silence brimmed at their midst in surprise.

At the sharp profile in the April morning light and the dark eyes looking at the ceiling with the specific quality of someone who was simply present in a moment rather than moving through it toward the next thing. "What do we do with quiet," she said. He turned and looked at her. The full and immediate attention. Always her first. "We learn it," he said. "We have not had much practice." She thought about this. About seven years of moving too fast for quiet to catch up and six years of filling quiet with operational precision and the specific irony of two people who had spent most of their adult lives running from or toward things discovering that what they had arrived at was stillness. "I do

I heard a raspy, haunting voice whispering in my head, hypnotizing and seducing my body and soul. "Who are you?" I whispered back, looking around the cold, dark, empty field. I couldn't see anything but snowflakes falling from the sky, clouding my peripheral vision. My bare feet were numb from walking on the thick snow though strangely I didn't feel cold, my mind knew it was cold. My eyesight suddenly caught a familiar old oak tree but oddly I couldn't remember why it looked familiar. I roamed my eyes to the vast surroundings, searching for that beautiful, enthralling voice. Nothing. I continued to walk and then out of nowhere, I saw an enormous manor, appeared out of nowhere, standing grote