The Space of Sound

This post is more of a free-form exercise. Free writing, if you will. The sentence fragments will probably bother some, but I will just be honest and say that I don’t care if that is the case :).

Have you ever been haunted by a sound you could not hear, but could sense?

The sound of air displaced by a mother shaking her head from side to side, so softly that only the house fly can hear it.

The sound of a house imperceptibly shifting from its foundation, year by year, centimeter at at time. Eventually you see the cracks around the doorways, in the walls, in the concrete, and feel a sense of betrayal.

The sound of your own breathing while you sleep in the dark, after wondering about the trust it takes to drift into unconsciousness and trust that you will come back the same. The sound of yourself tossing and turning alone with nobody to hear the fabric scratching across your skin.

Observing a person turning the page of a book from far across the room, with the persistent sense that you wish that this person would definitely not turn that page. You imagine the sound of the page turning, knowing that the person across the room will be devastated by what they read on the next page. The sound of your synapses firing, trying to thing of a way to stop the course of events, even though you knew that this moment was as fixed a point in time as the sun setting and the moon rising.

The sound of a fish opening its mouth from several feet under water while its eyes gaze at the shimmering crowds of people above. Its sharp tail-propelled flit in the race for a pellet. The fish’s desire to eat an innocuous offering from the humans, a pebble of nourishment made from other fish.

The sound of a monarch’s finger sliding across a map. The soft sound of a reward slipped into a pocket.


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