We are decibels. Lying in wait. Ready for the moment.

The flower vase flew across the room. It collided upon a photo frame and broke into a hundred shards. Like a boar on frenzy, we launched into the air, echoed off the wall, and swept across the ceiling. There, we pushed past one another, fighting for unexplored terrain to leave our tracks.

He pounded the table repeatedly. We interlocked swiftly and formed neat tidy rows, marching in steady procession out into the world, telling all who looked our way, the story of our creation.

No sooner had the pounding ceased when he charged into the kitchen. There, he played with a butter knife, flipping it over and over again with his fingers, deep in thought. We tailed him and swirled around the knife as it propelled carelessly through the air. A bunch of us remained in his head. Reverberating. We have always wondered why humans could hear their thoughts, but never the sounds they make. Perhaps they do, perhaps they don’t. Well it is up to us, isn’t?  It is up to us, isn’t it? They are the thoughts they make, and we are the sounds we make.  

With every flip and twirl of the knife, we redoubled in speed, exponentially growing in numbers, in strength. The faster we moved, the more there were of us. The knife is now drowning in a wailing vortex of agony, and his eyes were no longer alive. We coursed through his veins, blood gushing about in fire and fury. We reached his heart, a gigantic beast of sorrow and despair, flailing against the world.

He let out a scream. A sharp wail sliced through the dense midnight breeze. We shot out of his lungs like a cannon, powering through the windows into the night sky. We looked back in jest. However, his eyes followed us. There, we froze, dead in our tracks. Did he see us this time? Well, he is not supposed to. He is not able to. We are him, and he is us. We are his creation, and he is our world. He dropped the knife and watched us carefully like a hunter stalking a prey. It is getting intense now. We watched him back. He is not making any sound. We waited for each other to make a move. A few seconds passed like this, but time is not on our side.

The lattice we had formed is breaking up. We could scarcely hear him. We could scarcely hear ourselves. With each passing second, we are weakening. With each passing second, we are fading away. I looked around, it’s just a handful of us now. We looked at one another in fear. It will all end in a few moments if he continues with silence. He raised his arm and pointed straight at me. They scrambled from me, leaving me alone, just as I would if I were them. The lattice is no longer there. I could no longer think.

Darkness crept in from the corners of my vision. I could not see him clearly now, any more than he could continue to raise his arm and point at me. He was now teetering at the window ledge. He opened his mouth, but there was no sound. There was no story left to be told. The night breeze carried all of us away.

We are decibels. Lying in wait. Ready for the moment. So please give us a moment like you have always had. Because I am a decibel, and so are you.


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