Classic Rock One-Shots

Silence (~ John Deacon)

Silent is the house plunged into darkness. The raindrops are crashing against the windows in an unremitting rhythm that could drive one calm man mad. The shutters are desperately slamming against the walls and hooks, as if they were complaining and begging to be shut. The tiles of the roof seem to quiver under the howling wind. The coldness of this same wind is embracing the whole house, as if it was forming an invisible coat that simply would not do its job.

Inside the house, it is warmer, but the atmosphere is just as cold.

Huddled up on the horribly chilly leather sofa, her chin resting between her knees, Rosy is watching the candle burning on the table. She watches the flame rippling wildly and the shadows dancing on the walls. Just by looking at the trembling silhouettes, she can imagine the music playing in the background. Yet, her mind is not as joyful as the melody.

Her lips heave a long sigh, and her eyelids fall for a moment. Her hands pat the open space next to her until they find the woollen blanket on the side. Rosy covers her slim body with it, shivering uncontrollably.

Now, her body is warm. But her heart feels icy.

Her eyes open, and they scan the dim living room. The silhouettes suddenly stop dancing on the walls: something blew out the candle. A draught stabs her cheeks and makes her shiver again, despite the cover. She hears the front door creak but her eyes stay focused on the melted candle. Footsteps sound in the corridor, and somebody appears behind her, their perfume invading the room. She knows it too well, she does not worry about who is standing there. She recognised him.

John sighs silently and rests a hand on her shoulder, placing his lips on her temple. The corners of her lips want to rise, but all her muscles are too weak for that. He gives Rosy's hair a stroke, before walking away.

He does not need words to know she feels awful.

Murky thoughts take hold of her brain and heart, and salty tears roll down her face. It feels so unreal, but unfortunately, it is not. Steve died in a car crash yesterday. Steve, her childhood friend, with whom she used to spend most of her time laughing and telling secrets, listening to music and watching awful films for a good laugh. All these times they dedicated to each other are now over. There will never be another day full of shared smiles and looks.

Although she has John, she feels left alone, in a world that is hostile, and where people are constantly judgmental. Do something unusual, and be given a dirty look. Enjoy yourself, and people will turn your back at you. Give your opinion, and be insulted. Love, and be despised. Laugh, and be hushed. Smile, and be pointed at. Live, and be ridiculed.

Only Steve could brighten her life, with silly jokes whenever her lips smiled, with compliments whenever her hands created something, with tender words and warm embraces whenever her mood was down. He was her best friend, and they used to protect each other all the time. His life full of laughter was now reduced to silence. So was hers.

Suddenly a sensation of warmth clutches her freezing hands, going along with an appealing whiff of chocolate. An unknown weight is added to hers on the couch, making her slip a little on the side. A soft caress on her cheek wipes her tears away. She opens her eyes, meeting John's bright grey ones. The corners of his thin lips rise in a comforting smile, as he silently points at what caused the sensation of warmth. Rosy looks down and finds a steaming cup of hot chocolate: the aroma is so inviting, she carefully dips her lips in the delicious beverage, tasting the first few gulps.

John runs a loving hand through her tangled and messy hair. A thrill of delight spreads in her body, and another mouthful of chocolate made it feel like heaven. That is just what she needed. A peaceful moment right in the middle of hell.

Rosy glances at the wall again, and it suddenly appears dull to her eyes. The same old colour surrounds her, oppressive and unfriendly. Perhaps she should change it and paint the walls with all the most joyful colourful she likes.

But not today.

Her heavy and exhausted head leans on the side and rests on John's shoulder, as he wraps an arm around her waist. His hands adjust the blanket over her shoulders and knees. Yet, Rosy's hands search for the edge of this blanket and grasp it, letting it slip off her shoulders. It drops on the couch, with the lightest noise ever. It sounds even lighter than the fall of a feather in the palm of a hand.

Rose puts the cup down on the table; the steam still floats above it, before disappearing in less time that it took to form. She nestles against John's chest, her head moving from his shoulder to his collar bones. With a loving grin, he encircles her fragile body with his arms, holding her closer. She finds herself so close to him, his heartbeat echoes in her ear like a softly sung lullaby. He presses his lips against her hair, giving the top of her head a peck.

Now John is there, silence feels more welcoming. Noises and words would feel aggressive and violent. Silence is perfect.

Now John is there, all is calm and all is well.