Silence (A Quiet Place Fanfic)

1

I have an old photo of me and my parents. I vividly remember the day it was taken.

We visited Six Flags for the first time, and we asked another visitor to take a photo of us next to the largest roller coaster in the park, which we had just ridden on. It was a photo taken of our accomplishment. In the photo a twelve-year-old me clung to the waists of my parents who were on either side me. An excited grin was spread over my face, an expression I didn't know how to make anymore.

I look at it whenever I start to feel depressed or lonely, which is a common feeling when you live out in the middle of nowhere by yourself.

Instead of standing over the photo resting on top of the bedroom dresser, dwelling on all that I've lost, I move towards the pantry. I wasn't hungry, but I knew I needed to eat. I'd gone far too long without it.

I scan the items on the shelves in front of me for something to eat for dinner. My eyes rest on a box of strawberry Pop Tarts, my hunger briefly returning, but I don't grab them. I keep in mind the wrapper I must open to get to the Pop Tarts, which would make too much noise. I loved Pop Tarts dearly, but it wasn't worth the risk. I shifted my gaze to some bread, but not just any bread; 100% whole grain wheat bread.

Yuck.

But at least it would fill me up, and I wouldn't get killed trying to open it.

I silently grab a plate from the kitchen cabinet and set my few pieces of bread on the plate. Although I disliked wheat bread, I knew I would eat it. I hadn't eaten much since the first day of the attack. Two months ago. I was scared to look at myself in the mirror.

I was in desperate need of making a run to the store. Although I hadn't been eating much, there wasn't a lot of food here to begin with. I was lucky that when I first found this lodge, there was already at least some food in the pantry. It had made me guilty to eat someone else's food, but considering how I never saw the owners, I figured it didn't matter. Fortunately, I never saw their bodies. I hoped that maybe they were still alive somewhere, just in hiding, but I knew it was a naïve hope. Chances were, they were dead like nearly everybody else.

I sat down on the couch in the living room of the lodge, my plate with two pieces of bread in hand. Every meal I sat down on the couch so I wouldn't have to mess with the chairs around the table. Another precaution to avoid making noise.

Sometimes I don't understand what causes me to take all the noise-making precautions, as more than once I wished I was dead, and could have that wish fulfilled if I so much as whistled. There was something inside of me however, something that told me to survive as much as I could. Maybe it was some survival instinct that refused to let me give up, maybe it was some distant emotion I felt inside of me, desperate to live because my parents could not.

                                                                                               ~*~

I stare into the mirror in the bathroom, trying to find some trace of the girl I had once been, but the 17-year-old girl that looks back at me bears an unfamiliar face.

It took a lot effort to put myself in this position in front of the mirror. Part of it because I didn't want to look at myself, and the other because it was physically difficult to move around. It probably had something to do with barely eating for two months.

My dark brown eyes have no glimmer of hope or amusement, only exhaustion and loneliness remain in them. My dark hair is matted and sticking out in every direction, and I quietly open a bathroom drawer in search of a comb. Once I find one, I painfully brush through my hair, another thing I hadn't done for two months.

I hadn't gone into a bathroom in two months either, as there was no need. Using a toilet was too loud, using a shower was too loud, and so was washing my hands in the sink. The water didn't work anyways. Instead, I relieved myself outside and either used hand sanitizer or some leftover water I had.

It took me about 20 minutes to brush my hair, which was a painful process. After I had finished, I stuck the comb back in the drawer. I continued to just stare at myself in the mirror, as if after a certain amount of time, I would transfer back into the person I used to be. I had always been excited and outgoing, now I am scared, paranoid. I'm a girl who knows food and water is running out but doesn't have the courage to put a toe past the surrounding fence of the lodge. I knew that the fence wouldn't protect me, that whatever could kill me out there could just as well kill me in the lodge, but I felt a false sense of protection in an enclosed area.

There was a small part of me that challenged my fear to leave, to go somewhere else. But where would I go? Who out there was left? I didn't want to end up finding someone I knew dead. I'd already faced that trauma, and I'm pretty sure facing it again in my current mental state would be the end of me.

Right as I turned away from the mirror, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a moving black shape in the tub, and my heartrate spiked, and I almost fell backwards.

I regained myself before I made any noise, and quickly realized that it couldn't possibly be one of the creatures, as it was much too large to fit in the tub.

Curious as to what made its way into my tub, I investigated. I almost laugh a little when I see that It's Lon, my fluffy black cat. He's another one of the things besides the photo I took from my home. It was a risk bringing him, but I couldn't let him stay behind and die. He was the only family I had left.

Since a cat probably couldn't understand that making noise meant death, I usually keep Lon in a room I deliberately sound proofed just for him. I made sure that the room was full of furniture to absorb noise and that there were a ton of things hanging on the walls to serve the same purpose. Fortunately, Lon is a quiet cat anyways, so I never have any problems.

You little rascal, I think to myself, observing his small head looking up at me from the tub. You nearly killed me.

Time to get him back in his room.

I gently place my arms under him, praying silently that he won't make a noise as I lift him out of the tub. He wakes up slightly and stretches out in my arms as I take him out of the bathroom and into his room. The warmth of his furry body is a comforting feeling, reminding me that I am not the only living thing left in this world besides the monsters. But how long would I be content with that? A part of me still longed to be the excited and outgoing person I used to be. How long would I be able to handle being alone before I snapped?

                                                                                                ~*~

That night I laid down in bed. Unlike most other nights, I didn't find myself in tears. It was kind of unfortunate in a way, as crying usually helped me fall asleep quicker. Instead, I just stare at the ceiling, allowing random thought to infiltrate my mind until nothing is comprehendible, and I drift off into sleep.

Usually, my dreams consist of flashbacks of the attack, or twisted versions of it. But tonight's dream is a full-on replay of the day that ruined my life...

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A/N 

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