In the silent, silent, night—who is to blame, after all?
It’s currently dark outside. Night seems to deepen its shadow over this town like it’s an asylum in need of fortification. While I’m restless, the townsfolk seem to be asleep, noticing nothing. It’s impossible to share the same silence—it can’t be possible, surely! If we do share it, there must be something unorthodox woven between the layers of peace and torture.
I’m working up the courage to take a peek, but my bravery wavers every heartbeat. “Are you broken?” I ask the hanging clock. “If I can’t tell seconds from minutes, does that mean you’re really broken?” A small tick-tock is heard, signaling that time is not to blame.
“So… what now?” I continue. Silence. I keep looking at the clock, and then at the window a few feet behind. The blinds hang loosely, accusing me of not taking a chance. How can I explain that I’m mustering a courage I don’t even have? I might have been insane enough to guilt-trip a clock, but not enough to talk to a window.
So I continue to stare in silence. I sit in silence. I unravel in silence. If a clock could burst from being gazed upon too long, tonight would’ve ended in a firework-like explosion with a single toll.
What actually explodes remains veiled, though, and what has become of the silence is treacherous. “Am I broken?” I quietly ask the clock. “If I can’t tell minutes from hours, does that mean I’m truly broken?” Another tick-tock sound is heard, signaling that it doesn’t care.
How long is too long for a wait? It seems like morning won’t be coming anytime soon, and sleeping means waking up to the same terrestrial realm. Wait… I do want that. I’m just not sure if I should follow the townsfolk. I need to break the silence, but I’m too fragile to go first.
In the silent, silent, night—who isn’t to blame, after all?
The townsfolk, the clock, the window, and me. It’s still dark outside, anyway. Maybe I should just sleep, instead of waiting in vain.
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