Romans & histoires The Silence Of The Lambs

Not hers. Strangers. Countless. Births. Goodbye. Wars. Love confessions. Everything. Then suddenly: Nothing. Absolute void. Mara glowed and ripped the view away. “What was that?” Jonas replied deadly. ‘Forget’. Silence. “Not memory.” His voice trembled. “The opposite.” The boy closed his eyes. “We called it silence.” The name seemed to darken the air itself. The city besieged. Lyra whispered: “Don’t speak his name.”

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.

“I am sorry, I was just trying to keep you from murdering someone in public.” His expression shifted - dark, unreadable. His eyes trailed across my face, lingering on my lips. Then his hand reached up, fingertips grazing my cheek. He always wore the same damn expression. Blank, unmoved, like nothing in this world could touch him. But somehow, in the silence and the stillness, he made sure I and everyone else felt it all - the cold, the control, the darkness wrapped beneath his skin.

I watched it in Silence of the Lambs, so it must work. He stays quiet while staring at me like I watched him minutes ago. He turns away and goes back to the bacon. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he won’t answer. I’ve never been around a man who has so little to say. My home with my brother is never quiet. If he’s not throwing a tantrum over some small transgression, his men, or should I say gang members, rowdy voices fill the rooms. This man is still as stone, only using precise, necessary movements to do everything. Slow and methodical is his game. But there’s nothing slow about his mind. I swear I can actually feel his brain whirring when he’s quiet.

Everything stops! Silence.

Nathan Cross The lamp cast a muted glow over the room—soft, golden, almost tender. It mocked the storm inside me. I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, fingers laced together like I could hold myself together if I just gripped hard enough. The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful—it was punishment. Every second ticked by like a verdict. Behind me, Lana lay curled on her side, small and motionless beneath the blanket. But her breathing wasn’t even. It came in shallow, fractured bursts. A hitch. A shudder. The kind that came after the crying stopped—when there were no tears left, just echoes.

Emily’s voice carried across every screen. Every device. Every corner of the city. “…ended the day he betrayed me.” Silence followed. But it wasn’t empty. It was heavy. Filled with attention. Judgment. Curiosity. Millions were watching. Waiting. Emily didn’t look away. Didn’t hesitate. “For a long time…” she continued, “I stayed quiet.” Her eyes didn’t leave the camera. “Because I thought silence was dignity.” A small pause. “I was wrong.”

They had taken some of the cost. Another time, they walked into an area of complete, deafening silence. The Hungry Silence. It pressed in on them, seeking to devour their thoughts. Lyra, terrified, began to cry, but no sound came out. It was Kael who acted. He didn't hum. He stomped his foot on the ground. Just once.

Only the calm of a storm that knows its strength. Then, softer, but no less deadly: “Whisper again, and I’ll turn your murmurs into your graves.” The silence that followed wasn’t brittle anymore. It was bent, forced under her weight. Even Silas didn’t speak. The chamber did not snap back to quiet so much as it folded — like a giant leaf closing on itself, the sound of wings and breath muted under the weight of something enormous and final. At first came the smallest noises: a throat cleared, a chair scraping as someone adjusted position to listen harder. Then, like a tide catching on a cliff, reactions spilled out.

The drive over to the apartment was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Unasked questions hung in the air like a thick fog. Beads of sweat prickled on the back of the drivers neck as he too was smothered by the tension in the car. The seconds felt like minutes as the road seemed to stretch longer and longer before her eyes. Letting her eyes close, Thea suppressed a sigh as she leant her head against the window, she ignored the drumming of her head against the window as they drove over the bumpy terrain. Bellamy’s words playing on repeat in her head, ‘like our souls recognise each other’.