Silence.
A word that for it being so small, can open a vast amount of discussion and noise. What is silence?
By it's very definition it means the condition or quality of being or keeping still and silent. It is the absence of sound or stillness. A period of time without speech or noise.
Funny though, how even relative silence isn't complete silence. Ears become sensitive. Hearing becomes a heightened sense. The sound of the car horns four block's over, the joyous laughing of the children playing out in the street that wouldn't usually have been heard.
The birds chirping in the trees, the muted voices of neighbours.
The intake of breath. A heartbeat.
Memories swirling around in his mind. Ones that are the stuff of nightmares, ones that he one day hoped would disappear in time.
Each time heavy eyelids close he is transported back. He can see him, hear himself shouting. He feels himself walking over and grabbing him, shouting again.
Running now.
Then silence.
He can feel the pressure, that void in his senses, his mind knows there is no way out. He hopes. Prays that he will pull through and that this is the thing of nightmares.
Then he feels the pressure fade and he falls. Unmoving, not sure what is happening. Voices are muffled, he feels calm. He knows he shouldn't, knows that he should be afraid.
His next memory is interrupted by that incessant beeping. Reminding him he survived.
His eyes stare through himself, his image in the mirror almost an illusion. His mind needing to ask yet refraining to ask the question 'Is that really me?'
His fingers trace over the engraving and the shape of the gold shield in his hand. Once again his mind throws him back in time.
The joking. The traffic moving slowly as he drove, a smile on his face. A sparkle in his eye.
Broken. His thought and his moment broken. He could hear himself yelling once again. Listening intently at the commotion on the other side of the phone.
He couldn't remember tossing the phone aside.
It wasn't even the roar of the engine as soles of feet pressed firm and quick onto the well used pedal, pushing it down to the floor.
Moving through the busy traffic until he arrived.
Autopilot. He moved swiftly through the crowds, through the carnage.
Focused his mind blocked out the noise. All that he could hear in the deafening silence was the beat of his heart, fast, hard. Slamming against his ribcage.
The noise rushed back to his ears, flooding his senses as his eyes watched the figure rushed through swinging double doors. Each soft footstep with a slight squeak, each jangle of metal as a bed was wheeled past. The footsteps that stopped before him.
He remembered the silence, the sound of his own breath, the sound of his own tears. Not alone, but alone. No life but his.
He looked out of the window, knowing that he needed to move on, knowing that he needed to try and forget. But he was stubborn, everyone could see he needed help.
But he never asked, and so he kept himself busy and his pain locked away.
Until he was alone and he could sit in his own deafening silence.
Silence.
His refusal and failure to speak out.