Sunday: Empty silence
Mar. 27th, 2010 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spongetastic"I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."--Oriah Mountain Dreamer
The silence surrounding him was eerie. Living his entire life in Manhattan, Peter grew used to noises accompanying him through all hours of the day. But now there was nothing. No car horns, no siren wails, no street performers… Nothing.
He listened to his breaths coming in and out of his lungs. He swore he could even hear his heart beating in his chest. There were buildings but most of them were empty. Peter found a watch repair shop called Gray and Son’s. Then there was Sylar’s apartment and Peter’s. His refrigerator whirred though there was no need for it to be working in this stagnate world.
The monotony was maddening. Every day he would wake up and wander the city. He visited all the familiar places, unnerved by the emptiness he found. Peter could only go so far before he met the brick wall. He ran his fingers over the place he was sure he was hitting it with the sledgehammer. All of his efforts and it too remained the same.
It took a few days but eventually Peter started missing the sound of another human voice. Sometimes he would stay in bed staring at the ceiling, ears straining for signs of life that he knew would never come. Once he forgot he wasn’t alone and sank farther into himself. The silence seeped into his very skin.
Peter wanted to scream, and did once or twice just to listen to it echo in the air. Every time he felt too lonely to bother getting out of bed, his mind took him to Sylar’s apartment door. He always walked away again but he would still show up there and remember.
He wasn’t alone.
He sat on the ledge with a light breeze playing on his skin. It was such an incredibly obvious place to be. The hinges on the door creaked and Peter turned. Sylar stood feet away with his hands buried in his pockets. Peter watched him, waiting.
All it took was one silent month and he was eager for the voice he used to hate. He was cracking at the edges. Say something, his eyes pleaded. Say anything. Tell me I’m not alone. It was the same look Sylar gave him when Peter showed up in this place.
Now he understood.
The silence surrounding him was eerie. Living his entire life in Manhattan, Peter grew used to noises accompanying him through all hours of the day. But now there was nothing. No car horns, no siren wails, no street performers… Nothing.
He listened to his breaths coming in and out of his lungs. He swore he could even hear his heart beating in his chest. There were buildings but most of them were empty. Peter found a watch repair shop called Gray and Son’s. Then there was Sylar’s apartment and Peter’s. His refrigerator whirred though there was no need for it to be working in this stagnate world.
The monotony was maddening. Every day he would wake up and wander the city. He visited all the familiar places, unnerved by the emptiness he found. Peter could only go so far before he met the brick wall. He ran his fingers over the place he was sure he was hitting it with the sledgehammer. All of his efforts and it too remained the same.
It took a few days but eventually Peter started missing the sound of another human voice. Sometimes he would stay in bed staring at the ceiling, ears straining for signs of life that he knew would never come. Once he forgot he wasn’t alone and sank farther into himself. The silence seeped into his very skin.
Peter wanted to scream, and did once or twice just to listen to it echo in the air. Every time he felt too lonely to bother getting out of bed, his mind took him to Sylar’s apartment door. He always walked away again but he would still show up there and remember.
He wasn’t alone.
He sat on the ledge with a light breeze playing on his skin. It was such an incredibly obvious place to be. The hinges on the door creaked and Peter turned. Sylar stood feet away with his hands buried in his pockets. Peter watched him, waiting.
All it took was one silent month and he was eager for the voice he used to hate. He was cracking at the edges. Say something, his eyes pleaded. Say anything. Tell me I’m not alone. It was the same look Sylar gave him when Peter showed up in this place.
Now he understood.