The power goes off, and all you hear for blocks is the end of something you never knew was present. As the air conditioners and bread makers and halogen bulbs and alarm clocks go off, that eversoft ringing you can only name technology dissipates. An empty house at midnight suddenly seems that much more hollow, but infinitely less pleasant. It's stupidly comfortable in the second after a power surge, just remembering what silence is.
Silence can permeate traffic. Silence is not being deaf. It is a presence, one that can be around you. It can be bound to you. Any number of events can happen near you and not so much as tap the silence's front door. If there happened to be a higher power, it would be silence. It comes to you as the anti-matter of sound, then decides such a binding is not enough. Silence invades and conquers your sense. Sight focuses yet will not register; your thoughts quiet until you can only acknowledge its presence. No wonder people get chilled by it.
Two seconds at the latest, you realize that it's rather dark, or your computer seems to be displeased, or some other happening that explains this silence. Pets or similar people begin the long, dark process of being dawned upon. The silence affects you. Although you're completely conscious of the high winds and stormy situation about you, bewilderment overwhelms as you ask how such an event could possibly happen.
The silence is dynamic and revolutionary. That sound your feet make is crisp and pleasing; you feel Zen, as long as you're not exactly sure what Zen is, yourself. Either way, Taoists bow to you. A drug trip without cost, and without deep introspection on life. Silence is honoured; those who proclaim the power is indeed out are simply the type who would say that, nothing more. You take steps to listen.
Irritation replaces novelty in fifteen seconds, by the time the lights return. Dejected sighs and the pushing of power buttons within a few block radius ensues.
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