I sit in the white room, listening to the sound of silence. It has been this way for quite some time. I suppose it gives me time to muse over things, but I don't quite see the point of keeping me in this room forever.
Ah, allow me to back up. You need not know my name, for names are merely a formality to me. I also shall not bother to bore you with what I think "defines me", so to speak, because a definition is, by nature, everlasting. Eternal. Never changing, if you will.
They thought me mad, insane. But would a crazy girl be so cunning as to rig the brakes on her parents' vehicle? I think not. A crazy girl could never pull off something so calculated! I am not crazy, I am a genius! As soon as the fated event happened, the silence arrived, but that was a small price to pay after years of torment.
But I'm rambling.
I once believed that this would be what heaven is like - all white and nothing else. Now I know better, for the color white is scary. Menacing, even. It means you are being poked and prodded, it means "scientific advancement", it means the curious sense of dread that one gets when being watched.
As I listen to nothing, I recall quite suddenly a line from a song I used to love. It has been so long since I heard something that the thought of music is hard to fathom, but the lyric rings out, bright and loud.
"Sometimes, quiet is violent."
I ponder this as I stare at the blank wall. A piece of rope seems to materialize next to me quite suddenly. As I look up, my neck stiff, I see a single rafter, and know what I must do.
I was not mad then, but if the silence continues, I will be. There is only one way to end the silence.
As I prepare my fate, I speak the first words I've spoken in what feels like a millennia with a chuckle:
"Quiet is violent, indeed."
