Words For The Sound Of Silence 소설 & 이야기

The absolute absence of everything, including the concept of absence. "It is a Silence," the Utterance whispered in Jack's mind, and the ancient consciousness's voice carried a terror that Jack had never heard from it. Not even when facing the Devourer. Not even when meeting the Gravedigger. The silence that exists when a song ends. The pause between notes. It has always been there, between every sound the choir makes. We never noticed it because it was small. But the choir grew too loud. It woke the spaces between the music.

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.

I grin slyly at her and she chuckles nervously avoiding my eyes. "Will do." she smiles and my grin broadens. "Hmm. People will die from shock when they find out you do know how to talk… a lot...” Or how absolutely adorable you can be. On second thought, I’d like to be the only one. "They know I can talk. They just always seem to distort my words making me look insensitive… so I choose to stay silent." "I see." she really is a strong. Sensitive and thoughtful. "Yuzuki?"

I was always watching. That was the thing no one understood about silence. They assumed it was an absence, a void where sound used to be. But silence wasn't empty. It was full. Dense. It pressed against your eardrums like deep water, a constant pressure that never equalised. In silence, you noticed everything else. The way a man's jaw tightened before he lied. The micro-tremor in a hand reaching for a weapon. The precise angle of a spine that revealed whether someone feared you or merely pretended to. Sound was a luxury. Sight was survival.

Milena Dragovic My father had always known how to make silence feel like a weapon. The moment he finished speaking, the room went perfectly still. Not the polite quiet of an expensive restaurant. Not the muffled calm of a private dining room. This was something else entirely. A kind of vacuum that swallowed sound and forced every word to carry more weight than it should. He finally spoke, and though his voice was measured, every syllable seemed to echo. “I am told you have something they want.”

Deep inside the frozen river, pressure builds without sound. A hush settles where ice presses down, unsteady atop the tallest ridges. Silence cracks under cold heaps that lean without warning. Silence is what it craves. Not death, but clearing - like wind through bare branches. Irritants cling too loud, too hot, buzzing across its stone flesh. The screams fade when the air thins. Cold returns things to stillness. What remains belongs. Noise does not. Stillness does. Here comes a question. A proposal follows.

___________________________________________________________________________ 20 / 12 / 2021 Silence… In all my life , from the age of 5 , never have I ever heard silence so much louder in a house filled with people. I like silence – it is calm , peaceful and relaxes my soul however; the silence that is in this house is suffocating. I can almost see and feel the house walls draw in closer , boxing us in and suffocating us in this small space.

The wet sounds of a crash. And then, finally, the silence.

Make noise. The command lodges in my chest. Burns. Not just words. A lifeline thrown across an impossible gulf. Noise. In the silence. How? My voice is gone, stolen. My fists hitting the bulkhead? Swallowed instantly. Meaningless. But the scars… they hum. They vibrate. Against the silence. They feel… resonant. Like plucking a string stretched taut across nothingness. Anchor points.

Sienna: The silence in the woods was not the type to bring peace. It was the kind that hummed with warning, like something beneath the surface was waiting to breathe. Like it was waiting to attack. Like it was waiting for the right moment to clamper upon those who are weak.