Riddle About Silence Novels & Stories

Rheis could feel her patience wearing thin as the weight of their collective silence pressed upon her once again. The once amicable atmosphere had transformed into an infuriating void, leaving her seething with frustration. The three of them, with their tight-lipped demeanor, seemed determined to keep her in the dark. Rheis was slowly but surely reaching her boiling point. Gradually, an unsettling sensation crept over her, akin to that of a malfunctioning contraption. She found herself tirelessly articulating her innermost musings, only to be met with an eerie silence. It seemed that no matter how many inquiries Rheis had already made, not a single soul cared to utter a word in response.

He was still inside, probably finishing his drink, probably telling himself that I just needed a minute to calm down. I reached into my evening bag and pulled out the small, leather-bound journal I had started keeping. I flipped to the last entry and picked up the pen tucked into the spine. August 12th, I wrote, my hand surprisingly steady. Tonight, I realized that silence isn't just a lack of noise. It’s a weapon. And Gideon is an expert at wielding it.

The most terrifying thing about an absolute, unwavering silence isn't that it hides your next strategic move; it is that it acts as a perfect, unyielding mirror, forcing your enemy to stand in the quiet until the screaming inside their own paranoid mind drives them to tear off their own mask.

The silence came like a held breath, silver noticed it when she woke. She lay still beneath the furs, eyes open, waiting for the familiar brush of sound along the edges of her thoughts. The whispers had become a constant companion over the past weeks, unwelcome but predictable. They curled through her mind at odd hours, pressed into her insecurities, named her fractures with cruel intimacy. This morning, there was nothing, no murmur or presence. Her chest tightened. She sat up slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she could coax the sound back. The quiet stretched, deep and unnatural, like a forest emptied of birds, it was too still.

You went past where I can follow. And I understand, in the last clear second before the cold closes over my sight, that the silence is not the end of the source. It is the inhale before the first cry.

She didn't have to feel it. When she glanced back once more, booth five was vacant. Coffee untasted. A napkin, folded over the mug. Intrigued, Elira pulled it out. One sentence, written in sloping ink: "Some things are louder in silence." She scowled. Mysterious. Perhaps pretentious. Certainly strange. She slipped it into her pocket. --- The rain intensified again at 2:07 AM.

But hold on—why is my silence the answer to her question? “Care to elaborate on why my silence is the answer?” I asked, genuinely curious. “And here I was, thinking you were smart? Well, let me explain it to you, Mr. Not-So-Smart. Your silence could mean two things: one, you weren’t pretending, and two, you didn’t want to lie to me. You took exactly 30 seconds thinking. If you were the murderer, I have this intuition that you’d have planned answers for my questions, even if you didn’t know what they were.”

For holding up the mirror. They take a step toward me, and the air crackles with the promise of a very specific, very final retribution. And then, a sound. A single word. A word that has never been spoken in all the eons of this being’s existence. It isn’t loud. It is, in fact, barely a whisper. But in the absolute silence of the Warden’s rage, it is a thunderclap. It comes from the God of Silence. It stands in its corner, its formless attention fixed on the Warden. And it speaks.

POV ESMERAY Silence is never truly silent. After an explosion of that magnitude, the world doesn't just go quiet; it rings with a high, piercing frequency that feels like a needle driven into the brain. It’s the sound of the soul trying to find its way back into a battered body.

Me, in eco‍nomy behind them⁠, feeling ev‍ery la⁠ugh from his seat‍ like a pinch. Now, Da‍y One. The silence in the apart‍me‍nt was the worst‍ p‌art. I‍n the manor‍, silen‍ce had space. It cou‌ld stre⁠tch o‍ut. Here, t​h​e silence was pressed into the corn‍ers, thick and‍ w⁠a‌iti‌ng to be broken.