There's this odd feeling in the air. Something glittering and fragile, yet sharp as glass shards. You are breathing ice, tiny needles scratching at your lunges as you heave for air. You are running down the streets in the early morning.
The sky is the clearest it has been forever. Rays of light have burned the sky blue and left the earth glistening fresh, dew long past evaporated to thin air. Greens are stretching to the sky, concealing the dull soil underneath. The shadows are shivering cold still, but the sun is scorching your back, as you are bend over work.
It's lukewarm air pushing against your cheeks in the afternoon. Sweat is gathering around your eyes, and drilling your back, as you work the pedals like pistons. Sounds are snapped away from your ears, disappearing behind you and drowning in the rush of rapid breaths and singing blood.
The food taste stale on your tongue. You can barely swallow, let alone lift the fork to your mouth. It's not the food, you know. The vapors of it cooking has enticed you from the start. It's just that you are utterly exhausted, muscles weak and unwilling to do more. While the sky took colour from a bleeding orange, you vented furious screams into the pillows of your bed and bled the anger out in punches that didn't quite feel satisfying. You are spend, and the frustration gone with the wilting light. Only dark is left.
In the tiny crevices of the morning you rise once more to pour your heart into going a new day
The drip drop of water is drilling in your ears, echoing in the silence of the night as you lie awake. You've been tired, exhausted even, the entire day, but now that night is here your eyes refuse to shot, your mind refuses to settle down. You lie wondering what's wrong to have gotten you here, tired but awake, still but restless. You rarely have trouble sleeping.
The drip drop of water could be a clock. The seconds ticking by relentless and unforgiving. You don't dare to actually turn your head and check the time. You are not even sure you can really move anymore. You are just a mind without a responding body, and in the dark you can't see if your body is still attached to the bed, but it must be, right? Why else would you be feeling this heavy and warm? Maybe, you hope, you are really dreaming and you just don't know it, haven't realized you fell asleep hours ago. If that's the case though, why is your dream so dull, only the dark and the drip drop of water as company? Dreams are usually odd in more extraordinary ways.
The drip drop of water is changing, but you can't decide if it's slowing down or speeding up. You think it might be changing back and forth just to annoy you. You certainly can't use it to count the time, when it's constantly changing the rythm. After a moment more you decide it's slowed down. The rain must be stopping, and for a moment you fear it will disappear and leave you alone to the darkness, the black of the night, and the unseen monsters lurking where sounds no longer reach. You've never been afraid of the dark before, unless you had nightmares and fever. You decide you aren't afraid now either. You just don't want to feel alone.
The drip drop of water still echoes in your ears a long time later, and you are grateful for it now. You no longer know if your eyes are open in the dark. You can't tell the difference. It's a bit odd really, but such has been the night, and you no longer care. When you finally see anything again it's to a bright morning and quietness outside. The rain has stopped some time during the night, and you must have fallen asleep eventually, because you don't feel tired anymore. Maybe it was a dream after all.
Careless noise mumbling in the air, noticeable but unregistered by talking people that add to the mumbling on their own. There's never just quiet. Silence. We have no idea what it sounds like: No noise. Even if we found ourselves in a space omit of any sound, we would probably just hear the movement of blood in our veins, our heart beating, our lungs pulling in air and letting it out again. There's always something. We've gotten so used to sounds anywhere we go, we get unnerved by the lack of it. We fill out the empty space of silence with our voice or tapping fingers. We drown out the little disturbing noises with loud understandable things, so we won't get afraid of the quiet.
Clicking and a ferriswheel circling in the background. The fairground is one of the most noisy places I know of. Constant screams curling through the air in bursts of fright or pleasure, while music and murmur of people mingle in a cacophony of fun time. There's light flashing on surfaces and flickering in the eyes, and a plethora of smells wrap around people near any stand with food or candy. It's a clutter attacking all your senses while you are pushed around from one place to another. It's fun time and laughter as long as you can stand the sharpness of it all, but at some point you are inevitable full, satiated and ready to shot down. Sometimes sooner rather than later.
The roar of a waterfall. The intense howling of the wind squeezing between buildings or narrow canyons. The crashing of giant waves on the shore, rumbling and roaring in competition with the wind. Natures' wild sounds, the loud ones that makes it impossible to hear the sound of your own voice or anything but the rushing of movement beside you. The sound press against your body like a heavy blanket, and it's awful and inspiring at the same time, overwhelming in its sheer power, frightening. It makes you feel so small. Nature has softer sounds, peaceful sounds, soothing, but do we listen in our everyday life