Silence - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Whatever can silence be? For is there not always the sound of your own heart? Just as with whiteness there is light, and blackness is a canvass for dreams; if there is a soul present, there is always something. And so as the quietness grows deeper and I hear my own steady rhythm from within, I call this silence.
She had made her big declaration of love, the grand speech she had been rehearsing for a fortnight and now the silence lay on her skin like a poison. It seeped into her blood and paralyzed her brain, her pupils became dilated and there was a tremor in her hands. His face was one of awkwardness, not even hurrying to save her feelings, to fill the void with a non-comital statement of appreciation. The void was a cruelty he inflicted unintentionally, but had he been aware he would not have cared one iota. He picked his eyes off the gravel with the weariness of one who is fatigued with the whining of a small child and raised his eyebrows.
I know tensing against the shaking of my limbs is useless but I do it instinctively, trying to suppress for a few more moments what I know I cannot. I need to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatens to engulf me. This kind of thick silence would normally chill me, especially on an inky night devoid of even moonlight or stars, but tonight it works like a salve. I feel it. The more absolute it is the stronger its medicinal effect. They must be gone, they have to be gone, or at least very far away. I realise too late that I've misjudged the rapid onset of the shaking, my limbs are no longer taking directions from my mind. As I fall all I can hope for is a soft and quiet impact. I get neither. An involuntary "oof" escapes my cyanosed lips and there is a crunch of leaf and twig. Now the silence is my enemy. That noise that would be lost in the daytime will travel far, perhaps as far as the edges of the wood.
The silence caressed her skin like a cool summer breeze, smoothing her soul, taking away her jagged edges. It had been one hell of a rough day. The truck had broken down on the wrong side of town. In minutes she'd been swarmed by looters, desperate for something to sell more than something to eat. Cash meant a fix and they had meant to get in. But this was the newest model, as tough as any armoured vehicle, that's what it took to deliver anything of any value these days. Even if it was just sugared water.
The silence of the waiting room made her blood as cold as the autumnal air that crept through an open window. Bereft of any wind the leaves outside hung limp until they fell of their own accord, there was no whispering noise or rustling. It was as if nature conspired to keep her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. Then hurried footsteps and the squeak of a door brought her heart racing as fast as a gunshot. Her head snapped in an instant from gazing out of window with unfocused eyes to the rectangle of white formica the doctor would return from.
The storm had ebbed to nothingness, now the silence was as pure as the wintry blanket outside. Every creature was sheltering, the birds had either flown south or had better things to do than sing, and there wasn't another human for miles. When his ears became more accustomed to the lack of sound he thought he could hear the tinkle of the brook that was partially iced over, but other than that only his rhythmic breathing brokered the air.
After a frenetic night on the ward, Tara sank into her armchair. It was three in the morning and even the birds were quiet. There wasn't a car on the lane within a three mile radius and the dog as asleep on her bed. She drank in the silence through every pore, soothed by it's meditative quality. Each time a worrying thought emerged she mentally jotted it down on a notepad, wrapped it around a stone and threw it away into the abyss. When her anxieties had finally leached into the void, she moved her aching limbs up the stairs to bed. Then she lay there wrapped in her duvet, cocooned by the thick protective buffer of the absolute quiet.
When they entered the drop-off zone the silence put them on edge, it was about as normal as deserted streets in London's rush-hour. Even the birds had ceased to sing. Before they had processed what made it so eerie, the troops began to fall one after the other. An order for gas masks was given through their comm-links but the stricken men and women were already too far gone. Only the convict stood tall amongst the mass of writhing bodies.
The silence was a poison to them, for in that void of sound the shallowness of their conversation was laid bare. What used to be an intellectual banter of politics and comedic moments was utterly vapid. It was recycled, re-hashed, twitterized garbage worthy of Fox News. And so without another word Si packed his bag and left for good.
As Emma scanned her mother's face for a reaction the silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. She expected her to crumple, wail or dissolve into tears, but she did none of those things. Instead she got up and started making a pot of tea. Her son was dead and she was making tea like a robot. When she set out four cups we knew she hadn't taken it in. Sitting at the end of the row was his favourite, the blue ceramic one he'd made at middle school.
Her silence was somehow comforting and spoke for itself, it was peaceful in a way where you could feel at home and know that no matter what was happening, she was forever there for you.
Silence gnawed at her insides. Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. The silence was like a gaping void, needing to be filled with sounds, words, anything. The silence was poisonous in it's nothingness, cruelly underscoring how vapid their conversation had become. The silence was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong. Silence clung to them like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from them. Silence seeped into their every pore, like a poison slowly paralyzing them from either speech or movement.
As it turns out, you can't drink away the silence
Who said silence was golden
How can it be?
When I need to hear him speak
Say my name
Even just a whisper
Speak to me
If only for a moment
I can never be content in your silence
If I could just hear his voice
I would be fine
I would be whole again
It would be divine
I wish you would not savor the moment
As your silence only hurt me
Written by: Charmaine
It lingered in the air, thick and heavy, like a blanket. Wherever I moved, that silence followed, always watching never fading. My own, personal shadow.
Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets of silence spun into a kaleidoscopic jumble, shifted infinitesimally, and fell into an incredible new pattern.
All at once, I discover there's nothing around at all but a spreading carpet of gray-green moss, years deep, and a silence that feels as old as time itself. There's nothing to frighten me, but I am frightened ... and lonesome, not so much for people, but for a sound ... any sound. I turn to run back toward town, but there's nothing behind me now but the same gray moss and gray sky and dead silence.
The silence stretched thinner and thinner, like a balloon blown big, until the temptation to rupture it was too great to resist.
The silence was like a restorative draught after the frenetic rush of the day. The silence surrounded her like a fresh, pristine, white blanket of snow on a winter's day. The silence entered her soul like an angel's lullaby, smoothing out the roughness of the day. Silence surrounded them like a stars in a freckled night sky.
The silence was the most terrifying part. Like before a bomb. Its a time for hope to grow or wither. It is a time for doubt to suddenly grow until its almost physical. The silence the most painful part more painful as you'd wish for it to happen instead of endure the silence. When you do endure the silence you'll wish for pain rather then endure.
The darkness that now shrouded the face of the frozen deep was far more than just the absence of light. It was thick and heavy, interlaced with the stench of death, and broken by the screaming silence of sorrow.
A premonitory chill traced its icy way down Lucilla's backbone. For a second she stood on gray moss, under a gray sky, in the midst of a gray silence.
Silence. Silence that screamed with my sin. It was unnatural, void, refusing to be filled to prolong my suffering.
In my sleeplessness I am drunk on silence. For hours it has seeped into my pores, dowsing my mind in its thick toxicity. The usefulness of my thoughts left long ago, leaving these fatigued neurones to fire almost randomly- flailing without direction. I want so much to not to think at all, I want to be absorbed into the darkness that the night promised me hours ago. I want to be waking refreshed to streaming white daylight, unaware of the hours between then and now. But as usual my wishes mean nought and behind these closed lids the idiocy continues.
The silence was comfortable, a silence between two long-time friends. They enjoyed the warmth of companionship, rather than the noise of chattering incessantly as they lay on their backs, watching the stars above them.
I am air,
I am breath,
I am silence,
I am the moment before a dreaming sleeper wakes.
Kinetic and winnowing, hearts flutter at the oppression such a violence rings through the caverns of ears. Souls cry for help and irises sing for mercy as if such a sound could not be more brutally deafening.
There is a silence to my soul; I am fall leaves under frost. I feel the chill in my blood, coldness bringing the synapses of my brain to a stand still. Part of it is a pain, yet one I can endure, one I can sleep through night after night without the anaesthesia of false hope. This is my winter; I wait for spring and the chattering of the birds.
Until Juliette broke me out of that sick place, I hadn’t spoken a word in exactly three hundred five days. However, there I was, slowly going insane, wallowing in depression and monotony. Because silence is deadly. The lackadaisical ennui of reticence could cause someone to go insane; staying mute for a long period of time, is a human’s biggest weakness.