Short Story: 99 Words

I’m still afraid of what I’ll meet in the silence.

Do you, maybe, create stories of what you’ll meet in the still?

If you stopped.

If you ceased.

If you just listened.

Why do we wisp this false narrative of the silence?

I wonder, if maybe, we’re afraid of the who.

Us. And Him.

And He speaks so loud when we don’t fill our hands with noise.

I’m still afraid of what I’ll meet in the silence.

Still spinning all the fake things that make the noise sound better.

Sad.

Because once we go, we hear the music again.

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