It is too Quiet in the After

2618 Words Feb 24th, 2018 10 Pages
That was my first thought as I was aroused from my sleep on the first night. That silence, that eerie, distilled silence was what had woken me up. It was three o’clock in the morning and it was too quiet. There was no rustling of dead leaves in the wind, the constant blaring of my uncle’s flat screen TV was for the first time not seeping through the cracks of my bedroom walls, and my parent’s screaming voices where finally silent after years of arguing. Even the white noise from the broken radio that my grandmother refused to turn off because she claimed that my grandfather spoke to her through the chorus of static had finally ended. But that silence, that delightfully relieving silence was wrong somehow and I couldn’t put my finger on it. As I lay there in my bed, I noticed that this silence wasn’t normal. Its flavor was all wrong, it tasted slightly sweet yet to only have a bitter after-taste that left you will a foul odor and lingered on the tip of your tongue and crept up your nose, kind of like when you smelled decaying flesh or the lingering scent of infection. It was not only quiet but cold and dark as well. It was too cold for the hot and steamy month of June. The chilly air was raw and jagged, like crisp snow on broken bones and the dark seeped into my white bedroom like bleeding ink on parchment paper. The only source of light was the faint grayish hue that the moon had casted, but even that was slowly melting away. Curious and a…

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