The Sound of Silence

The sound of their cold, rigid silence was deafening. He found not speaking to each other so much more effort full, both mentally and physically, than conversation. Casual talk, even if flanked by long periods of quiet, did not have anywhere near the same weight. No, he knew this silence was an aggression, an act of war, and he only hoped she'd tire of the burden and put down her stoney weapon. His white flag was ready. Always proportional to the size of his transgressions, he figured this would be a 2-3 day freeze out. Then they could go back to their easy banter, their complacent bickering. But for now he knew all too well the rules of engagement, and they were simply: do not.

A week of writing prompts

11/22 - Stopping to look in a window
As I passed the shed, I stopped to look in the window and there, just visible through the dusty glass I could see it: a small scrap of paper tucked into the sill and I could even make out what it said: "The blanket we laid on when we watched The Northern Lights."

1/23 - When we left for...
When we left for Cambden there wasn't even time to grab cigarettes.

11/24 - Write about a bathrobe
Hesitantly, he slid the liquid silk kimono off his shoulders, and stepped daintily into the tub. 
"No more excuses, Dan—I'm really ready this time. I mean it." "Great," said Dan. Let's start with putting your nose in and blowing bubbles."

11/25 - Who could imagine
"Who could imagine a place where you can't get chicken wings?" said the pinkish American bellhop, shaking his head.
"Yes ma'am, the French are funny that way, especially about chicken." He opened a binder that held an assortment of menus, searching for one in particular. When he found it he handed it to them, but still seemed distracted. "Not where I'm from. You can get chicken wings everywhere. And they're cheap, too, sometimes even free with a pitcher of beer! Spicy ones, regular ones, all kinds." The man stared off into the distance as if he could taste the Frank's sauce. "But as for where to get the best Coq au vin, I highly recommend Le Cinq, just over on Avenue George."

11/26 - Write about back alleys
Back alleys are only good for three things: finishing cigarettes, stealing kisses, and running from bad guys.

11/27 - There is always more than one silence
When you've been in a relationship long enough you know that there is always more than one kind of silence.

11/28 - Write about being a long way from home
Dear Jon,

Can you send some socks? The moths got to mine and I only packed two pair. Planning on Damascus by the 20th. Civilization is sporadic these days so some more cash and few more packs of jerky and those cranberry things I like would be great, and an extra book to pass the time. Maybe a dirty magazine? You know how lonely the trail gets. You're the best. 

-Arctic Fox

The blue pool of water

For Jenny's entire life, from the time she was a small child, she loved to dive deep deep deep into blue pools of water, where life was muffled, where sound lost all context, where she was free to be entirely herself. She loved the silence, the escape, the complete calm that came over her as her hair floated around her, as her legs lifted of their own accord, as she let tiny bubbles escape her lips like a ticking clock, keeping time until she had to go back to the world. As Jenny got older, she learned how to stay down longer and longer—first lessons, then dive team, then swim training, and finally extreme endurance competitions—and she felt as if the water were her second, and better home. This is where she could think thoughts that were only hers, where voices, so loud and offensive, went away. Above ground she felt  heavy and burdensome but in the water her body was bouyant and small, it slipped through waves like liquid through a sieve. The pool was where her secrets were kept, even those too ugly to think; in the pool they were safe to pull out and turn over, pound with repetition, wear down with pulling and breathing that always got Jenny places other than here. For her whole life there was nothing else in that water but her, and she occupied it like air clings to a tree.