The echo of colorful footsteps collided with the soft buzz of hushed whispers and restless movements; the rustling of papers, and the rare hiccup bouncing off the dull floors. A far-away-high-pitched whine of the machinery grinding away wearily, in the walls, added to the surreal reality of the silence. People begin to melt into each other until they are all just one three dimensional abstract painting; all eyes are on themselves. An occasional giggle rises, only to fall back into the giant mound that was once people. The occasional clicking of heels, danced with a crisp sureness, to the tapping of a key board. Sometimes even the flip of another page, of an endless text, rippled off the high ceilings. The rhythmic melody of a pulse, laced with the quiet sounds of a busy kitchen, fills the vast emptiness in between.
Warm rich scents of bitter coffee, and whipped toppings seep into me. The echo of descending heels, and the scraping of worn lead, against fresh paper creates a sense of falling. Nothing seems to live but me and everything. A closing door’s soft thud, and the creaking of old hinges sets me afloat; hovering over the thin line separating black unconsciousness from evasive dreams. But as pins and needles begin their assault on my limbs, I unwillingly resurface, feeling only cool consciousness now; a new world. The thin line of thick strength threatens to violate my senses again, leaving my subconscious to crave that sentimental silence once more; that loud silence.
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