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January 24, 2018 1 min read
The storm outside used to haunt you obsessively. Harsh winds clash into the shuddering walls of the Baker residence. You hear an erratic moan from upstairs. Or was that the wind? You don’t know. You’ll never know. It may have been one of the residents, but it’s certainly not your missing wife, Mia.
You have no choice. You walk, suspiciously alone, into the foyer. The floorboards squish underneath you with each step. A lone piano key hammers through the creaking walls, irritating the silence. You don’t make the decision; your head immediately snaps toward the sound to detect the source. It’s almost a relief -- finally, an image in the auditory static.
As the environmental cacophony rises in and out of silence, all that’s left to focus on is your breathing. It’s a constant reminder of your mortality, but at least it exists.
This is shelter. This is safe. No matter how dreadful it is to exist in all this noise, this is safe.
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