Okay, I cheated. This one is 189 words. Sorry 'bout that.
Quiet
To Roronoa Zoro, "quiet" is an abstract concept, or at best, one of those things that happens to other people.
Zoro can sleep through anything, even storms and battles and mealtimes (though he chooses not to). He can nap away the day on the hard wooden deck amidst the ruckus of his crewmates quarreling and laughing and screaming and running about, through the screeching of seagulls and the slapping of waves against the hull. He is not disturbed by the sound of marbles striking the bulkheads like bullets or by the clatter of coins and jangle of jewelry, not by matches stricken and food sizzling nor by the joyful giggles of a boy high on life and friendship.
At night, hammocks creak and crewmates snore, and sometimes Zoro can hear a pen scratching dutifully on paper or feet patrolling the deck above. There is always sound; "quiet" is a thing of the past, something that no longer exists and will never grace the decks of the Going Merry.
What Zoro doesn't know is when exactly he began to equate never-ending noise, rather than the absence of such, with peace.
