Silence in the Night

The night is quiet. What do you hear?

Her life was not the happiest for her, at least not now; not after that horrifying night during which her family -- all she could ever love and more -- was slain (predictable, no?).  The fact that she is even alive never ceases to amaze her.  The violence was so sudden and the screams, the pain, nothing could even attempt to explain why she was still here, alive, but nothing more.  Years have gone by since then; the constant pain of memory fills her head with a cold harsh symphony of screams and terror.

The wind roars through the cliffs tossing the around the delicate snowflakes and leaving its cold sting on her face.  That does nothing to drown out the screams of agony.  The crunching snow, the swishing trees, the soft moonlight were the antithesis to the harsh and clashing dissonance always running through her head.

She takes a careful step towards the edge of the cliff and peers over to view the waiting darkness.  It would be so simple a method to resolve the commotion in her head;  her mother would finally find an end to the terror and pain, her father would be forgiven for outwardly displaying such rage and insanity, her brother and sister would finally find sanctuary from the depths of her hellish memory.  Just another step, and that would be it.  It was turning out to be the most difficult decision she could make.

She longed so much to float with the snowflakes down into the infinite abyss, and to find that final note to end her dischordantly composed her life.  The piercing screams would stop and the searing pain of memory would end, but then again so would the cleansing rush of the wind, and the gentle radiance of the moon; the careful touch of his hand.

She opens her eyes, somewhat surprised at her turn of thoughts.  She suddenly desired to be with him, to have his warmth around her (she was feeling rather cold).  But where was he now?

"What the Hell am I thinking?"

He might as well be a ghost or some figment of her imagination.  Up to this point he hadn't a name, a face or even a voice; just a collection of intense sensation recorded to her memory.  The only language spoken between them was silence.  Silence: so cold, and harsh, and impersonal; it seemed so ironic for it to precede the most tender and careful experience she'd ever had, completely unlike anything else in her life (first kisses are supposed to do that right?).  Or was it really so cold and harsh; after a few seconds she realized exactly what she'd felt in that silence.  She felt the "silence" of life all around.  The atonal agony of her loved ones' dying screams decrescendo into the background of her thoughts.  To the foreground came the simple sounds of life, previously which she'd taken for granted.  They came together to form an almost symphonic musical experience all to the tempo of the turn of the Earth.  The wind was blowing, the snow was falling, the moon was glowing...

"They still are..."

At that, she'd made her decision.  She turned back and walked away, expecting her band of painful memory to resume play.  To her pleasant terror she was stopped by a dark, silent sillouhette.  The silence once again preside over speach, this time though, it immediately became unbearable.

"You again..." she calmly stated with a slight undertone of cynical expectance.  She'd played a wrong note in the song of silence.  "Say something damnit..."  If only he would break his silence.

The silence continued, destroying her from inside to out; the band was resuming play in her head.  Still he said nothing.  Instead he closed in on her, coming closer and closer -- as if the silence was merely a method of psychological attack.  Instinctively she reached for her blade knowing full well that she was powerless to stop him; she might as well have had her hands tied behind her back.  He paused in the moonlight wary of her reaction -- finally his face revealed to her.  In seconds she was smothered in warmth and a caressing touch all over her body (mushy, ain't it?).  The silence was broken.  All she could hear was his ghostly breath on her body; all she could feel was his lips upon hers.  And finally she'd a name for the sensual figure from the deep, shadowy smooth voice himself:

"Hello, my love..."

Author's Note

Bleck, I've never written anything so mushy before.

Reviews

[Solis-Lopez]

"the around" - typo and also "moolight" XD i laughed, thinking that light could go moo. lol i'm just messing with you.
and...wow...o.o;; ho-ly c-ow! XDDD that was pretty good! i especially liked the way you managed to use the music terms in there, they sounded so well put and...yeah! ^-^ that was really cool! the mushiness is good, don't worry, that was a good place to put it in though, at the very end coming from the middle. ^-^ great job here denise, i wish you'd put it in the Literary Journal at school XD