Silence

by SparkedSteel

How easily the world can contrast from a sweet summer night in the rye fields, to the deathly silence that Russia's house entailed. Lithuania's POV.

I miss it so desperately- the smell of the rye fields, the feeling of the grass against my legs as I'm tugged to see something new- something exciting that Poland has found. I miss those fields, miss the sound of crickets in the evening and the rustling of rye. I miss the fresh smell after a storm, the feel of mud under my feet.

Nothing is like that here. This house smells like dirt and alcohol. It's a painful smell, in more ways that one. It's the kind of smell that one associates with blood shed.

I hate this place. There's no pretty fields with it's crickets and bright moon. Outside the cold window is just white- forever an expanse of freezing and unforgiving cold. It's silent- foreboding even. My first night here alarmed me the most. There's not even the whisper of trees in this place- just flat and dead silence.