The silence of the situation seemed soothing, something she had not expected. She had thought that it would have been a moment full of mental excess, a headache of overexposure. But there was none of that, no symphony of data compounding her eardrums with intrusive mind control or that volley of information missiles she would have expected from a situation as big and as important as this. It was completely quiet and she was fully surprised.
Anticipating the tiresome intake, she had countered, numbing her mind for the injection with a palm full of diet pills washed down with thick dark coffee. But now it seemed like a waste. She could have saved those pills for later, a quick fix for the pain of ingestion.
She looked around the room these people were exactly like her, dressed in the uniform of modern progress. Their designer clothes and comodified fragrances filled the room with an explosion of success. She wondered what they were thinking. Were they as surprised as her? Had they expected this? Probably not, silence had become awkward. It was a confused moment of anxiety, which you tried to fill with the mundane nothingness of everyday life. Desperately trying to make their lives important but they were silly little conversations of small chatter that intruded on the quiet, and all for what, had things changed that much?
People were scared of the silence. It was a modern boogeyman, hiding in the shadows of productivity, waiting to carry you off. Things were not always like this and she knew it. There were days of slow bliss in which moments of silence carried thousands of messages, speaking of the past, the future, and the now, helping us understand.
She knew this, as well as the others but nothing changed. In all the movement and progress, things were stagnant. Glancing at her watch she wondered how long this calm would go on. It had seemed like forever but on inspection of the miniature slave driver sitting upon her wrist she realized it had been only a few minutes. Her relaxation had begun to fade.
Something inside her called for action. She felt useless and no good. The silence was making her sick. She needed to do something, to say something. Things needed to get done. Why had she let the silence carry her away? Why had the others? They were wasting the most valuable of assets, time.
The door opened slowly and a middle-aged man briskly entered making apologies around the room. Sorry Im late his voiced trailed of into the excuse and than into a quirky antidote of his children. She laughed routinely and felt better. It was time to start work and she was released from the silence. It could no longer will her into nothingness. She would not let go of the cliff today. She couldnt there was far too much work to get done. Go, go, go, the frivolous extorts of a life of quiet would not be seen here. It was not her story. The message had filtered through and the desired effect was always in control. She was a number in the mass of modernity and a self-made woman, successful and a master of efficiency. She needed nothing but time. With enough of it she could conquer this world. She just had to avoid the silence.
Anticipating the tiresome intake, she had countered, numbing her mind for the injection with a palm full of diet pills washed down with thick dark coffee. But now it seemed like a waste. She could have saved those pills for later, a quick fix for the pain of ingestion.
She looked around the room these people were exactly like her, dressed in the uniform of modern progress. Their designer clothes and comodified fragrances filled the room with an explosion of success. She wondered what they were thinking. Were they as surprised as her? Had they expected this? Probably not, silence had become awkward. It was a confused moment of anxiety, which you tried to fill with the mundane nothingness of everyday life. Desperately trying to make their lives important but they were silly little conversations of small chatter that intruded on the quiet, and all for what, had things changed that much?
People were scared of the silence. It was a modern boogeyman, hiding in the shadows of productivity, waiting to carry you off. Things were not always like this and she knew it. There were days of slow bliss in which moments of silence carried thousands of messages, speaking of the past, the future, and the now, helping us understand.
She knew this, as well as the others but nothing changed. In all the movement and progress, things were stagnant. Glancing at her watch she wondered how long this calm would go on. It had seemed like forever but on inspection of the miniature slave driver sitting upon her wrist she realized it had been only a few minutes. Her relaxation had begun to fade.
Something inside her called for action. She felt useless and no good. The silence was making her sick. She needed to do something, to say something. Things needed to get done. Why had she let the silence carry her away? Why had the others? They were wasting the most valuable of assets, time.
The door opened slowly and a middle-aged man briskly entered making apologies around the room. Sorry Im late his voiced trailed of into the excuse and than into a quirky antidote of his children. She laughed routinely and felt better. It was time to start work and she was released from the silence. It could no longer will her into nothingness. She would not let go of the cliff today. She couldnt there was far too much work to get done. Go, go, go, the frivolous extorts of a life of quiet would not be seen here. It was not her story. The message had filtered through and the desired effect was always in control. She was a number in the mass of modernity and a self-made woman, successful and a master of efficiency. She needed nothing but time. With enough of it she could conquer this world. She just had to avoid the silence.
howdypardner:
you sir. . . .are indeed a fickle boy. . . .but thanks for the comments!