Mortal Silence

prologue

Everything is gray. The concrete sidewalk beneath my feet, the brick walls on either side of the cold and empty street. Cobblestone stretched down the middle of the street, approximately two feet below the sidewalk. The trees hung like they were being scolded by their mother, punished for merely existing. The flowers normally blooming at this time of year barely sprouted as if they were peeping through the bushes, scared of the world and waiting for the perfect moment to blossom.

The street lights illuminated the road around me with a gradient of yellow to dark blue to yellow again between each light. The rain settled after nearly an hour to a shimmering drizzle; the perfect weather for a much needed outing. Cold to the touch, the rain was just enough yet not wet or thick enough to need an umbrella.

Grasshoppers chirped in the distance as they always seemed to do after rain swept away life on the streets. Not like there's much now anyways.

It's one seventeen in the morning. Too late for anyone to be outside, due to the orders. Too early for anyone to be awake. Even non-essential graveyard shift workers have taken to sleep, for the night is the worst time to be outside. You'd think that all graveyard shifters would be furloughed or laid off considering the circumstances.

I shouldn't even be out here. Rona could be anywhere.

Yet it's too peaceful to stay inside. A cracked window wouldn't help my scrambled thoughts desperately waiting to break out of their prison cell. My mind feels like a brightly colored parrot loudly screeching all the time, which is why walks like tonight always seemed to calm me down before.

The medication on the kitchen table doesn't help much, and even if it did, I don't find anything attractive or poetic about it. That's certainly
what draws many people to the idea. Either that or the theory that one could simply create an illness out of thin air, like a hand rummaging the air and pulling out a clear wisp of imagination, for the sole purpose of getting high.

Yes, that happens. Don't get me wrong, it is rare. Although it is, many people simply are looking for a legal way to enjoy what they can't illegally. It only makes it harder for those who need it. I certainly don't. Which brings me here.

Right in front of Harper's Convenience, the only
place open twenty-four seven with impeccable service. The long walks must always end up in a stop in, to thank the employees for staying open as their lives depend on it; to make some miniscule yet tedious moments go by just a bit faster for those forced to be awake. The candy bars and soda are needed as well. Sugar and caffeine although detrimental to my body are quite calming for my mind.

I walk in and the bell chimes, just like always. I get greeted first by the cashier. Noah beams behind his mask as if he expected me, having waited for me for hours. I smile and stop at the register and talk. I ask him about his family, how everyone is handling this horrible time.

He lives with his mother's mother, his parents, and his four siblings. He's the oldest of the five kids and his parents were furloughed and laid off, and having trouble finding work. So, he started his job here, luckily a few days into quarantine. Every single cent he makes from these horrible, late shifts goes directly into his parents' pockets. They promise him, of course, that it'll all be returned once life goes back to normal. But Noah knows better. Yet he never seems to complain.

"It gives me something to do," he says. "I can get out of the house and talk to my coworkers and people who might come in. It's better at night too, I have more time to finish schoolwork and things I want to do."

During the day, he helps his parents with his four siblings and grandmother. His grandmother, Eileen, had been widowed for nearly two decades. His grandfather Danny passed from a heart attack. Eileen still remained chipper, yet as the years passed she grew to be slower. She couldn't care for herself anymore, so Noah's mother took her in without a second thought.

"She took care of me all my life, why can't I take care of her now?"

Noah's four younger siblings, all ranging in age from six to fourteen, were vastly different from the next. Noah, sixteen, was quiet and reserved, yet happy as can be. Next came Lilly, a fourteen year old like many others, narcissistic and in need of external love because she didn't have any to give to herself. After Lilly was Thomas, an eleven year old who hadn't yet grown out of his train phase, fittingly. Then came Aiden. He was nine and just starting to come into his own skin, having been bullied for being quite smaller and weaker than his peers. At the youngest child at six, Sadie had just started kindergarten this year. She was so excited, but then Rona came around and ruined it for her. She was devastated.

His mother and father, Michelle and John, were always tired as can be and relied on him heavily for his income and to help take care of his family. Michelle and John always had a cup of coffee in their hands and bags under their eyes so Noah was left to pick up the slack. He didn't seem to mind. As long as he got to spend time with his family, which now was the perfect opportunity. No school and no non-essential jobs.

I meandered over to the candy aisle, still maintaining small talk with Noah, and settled on a regular Hershey's chocolate bar. Then I walked to the fridge with the soda and chose Diet Dr Pepper, my favorite soda. Just a quick, easy trip. My breath started to shake as I walked up to the counter. I don't know why I'm getting so nervous, I've done this before.

I gulp, and smile behind my mask before realizing Noah can't see my unsteady grin. Maybe it's for the better. I take a quick look around before setting my drink and snack on the counter. No one else seems to be around. Good. Security cameras are on, but turned slightly enough to where no one would be able to notice me. Noah scans the items before reciting my total from the machine. Six dollars and seventy two cents.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out a gun instead of my wallet. Noah barely even realizes what's happening before the safety is taken off, the gun locked and loaded. He starts to tremble and shake, realizing who I am.

His voice faint and short-winded only offers a few syllables at a time. Noah's boss William comes out and sees the gun in my hands. The box of chips drops to his feet as he raises his hands, backing towards the phone hung on the wall behind him.

I turn the gun to him. "Don't," I mutter. His compliance is what kills him. I fire immediately; the bullet hits his chest and he falls instantly to the floor. No chance of survival. Without a second thought I turn to Noah and fire before he gets a chance to plead. "Sorry," I whispered. The bell chimes as I leave the shop with my 'purchase.'

Sad, really. They should know not to trust even their most reliable customers.