MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “noise”

Lost in a horizon

http://wpnature.com/moonlight-horizon-light-stones-clouds-moon-night-beach-wallpaper-with-sky-blue-background/Sometimes there are moments when you have nothing to say. There are people who go through such moments, and others who never experience them at all. The former are often the ones who know that sometimes silence is worth so much more than blabber. And it is often them that get lost in their thoughts, staring out the window into the horizon, allowing their mind to drift.

It is in those moments that you allow your soul to relax, to breathe, to regenerate itself.

Because it is in those moments that you enable the storm inside you to cool down.

On days that begin with sun, then bringing on clouds, rain, storms, thunder, hail, to return to sun, and repeat the cycle; that is when you need to be quiet the most. To take it all in and to admire the forces of nature that more often than not reflect our own emotions.

It is said that unless what you have to say is better than silence, then be quiet. Wouldn’t the world be so much better without all the useless noise pollution? Wouldn’t we all be calmer and more serene rather than the nervous wrecks we have (been forced) to become?

Just think about it for a minute. In silence.

Whispers of Light

http://www.hear2heal.com/images/FIRST%20LIGHT%20Desert%20Daybreak.jpgIt’s that moment at the break of dawn, when the sky is darkest. When you need a flashlight simply to find your way around your own balcony. That moment when the breeze is strong and carries with it the smells of dew break. It is that very moment when you’re too embarrassed to disrupt the silence.  When not even a whisper is heard and the sleeping world seems too peaceful.

But as light slowly emerges, so do the whispers that are heard, becoming a bit more decisive but still not stressing the vocal chords. It is a different moment, that of illumination. It is when day dawns, together with your plans, ideas and ambitions for the hours ahead.

And then as the sun rises, so do the people, the daily business, the noise. It is when you no longer care to keep your voice down because everyone is, or ought to be up, and about by now. It is when the whispers turn directly into loud talk, usually about anything and nothing simultaneously. When discussions happen often for the sake of it, with interlocutors competing not at wit, but at who will have the last word, no matter how trifling it may be.

It is that moment when you, who was so far whispering, acknowledge that sometimes it is better to whisper a thousand words that light up your mind, than shout ten than burn it down.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Whisper

Riding in the plane with noise

aerial-view-vi-airplane-flying-over-valencia-in-spain-headed-east-towards-the-mediterranean-sea-john-a-shironFedra was traveling for the first time after news of the serious plane crash had surfaced in the media. Although she was a very frequent flyer and never faced any severe plane-related episodes other than the occasional turbulence during bad weather, this time she was a bit afraid. Falling planes had become a kind of a notorious trend lately and the media depiction of the situation was not helping. Just in case, she took a light sedative before boarding.

Everything had proceeded normally. So far.

She noticed the flight was full of many foreigners. And old people. But she took no notice. What difference would it make anyway?

As soon as the plane took off, though, it began.

The noise. The unbearable noise. And it was not coming from the engines.

It was emerging from the old ladies sitting exactly behind her. They were separated by an old man who was unlucky enough to be seated in the middle of this missile exchange of very loud words. Foreign words of a language Fedra could not detect. Maybe something Arab-related? Or perhaps it was Dutch? For some reason the unfamiliarity of the words also made them sound all the more louder. She couldn’t understand whether the women were excited of traveling, of being on a plane, or simply chatterboxes. But they were so loud, even the person ten rows further down complained. Not even the flight attendants could do anything about this. The old ladies couldn’t hear well either, so even telling them to keep it down had to be done loudly and then everything simply became worse.

People all across the plane were hoping food would be served soon to get them to shut up. But that didn’t work either.

Food just made the old ladies even louder, as they were munching and chatting at the same time, probably criticising the food, the service, and who knows what else.

Then the on board purchases had their round and the old ladies got so excited that they stopped the cart and were asking to see things – mostly jewelry – for about ten minutes. The stewardess was not able to accurately decipher what the old ladies were saying, as their foreign language differed greatly from English, and this caused even the stewardess to sigh numerous times. She eventually walked away fifteen minutes later without having managed to sell anything.

The noise continued though.

Passengers trying to get some sleep were now complaining of living a nightmare, while literally everyone was checking the time, hoping the plane would land soon so this martyrdom would end.

It is unavoidable to travel with noise. It is part of human behaviour. But why have we all become so insensitive to every one else around us that we simply do not give a chicken’s feather what anyone else thinks, or if we are causing them discomfort?

When the plane finally landed, the pilot himself opened the cockpit door and requested to see who was making all that noise. When he saw two elderly women picking up their canes and holding on to the unfortunate old man-in-the-middle, he was stunned. How so much noise could be coming out of such a feeble “container” was a mystery to him. And to the control tower to whom he had been reporting.

What the old ladies (and the other passengers) didn’t know, is that right behind them sat a reporter from their hometown who had been recording everything they were saying. Something which he later used for his own reportage. Fedra still didn’t know how, but a few days later she had seen the two familiar faces on a foreign news bulletin during a TV zapping surge one afternoon.

The moral ending is, be considerate of others around you. If nothing else, you never know who might be listening and what consequences that may have.

Also part of Daily Prompt: What a Twist!

Barry’s flight out

GoodfeathersIt was windy that day. Barry remembered it well. He lost three feathers in that whirlwind that took his town by literally a storm. It was the pain from the third feather being ruthlessly plucked out from his tail that made him take the decision. He was going to go to the city.

Life in a big city was not easy for a pigeon. It was not easy for anyone actually from what he witnessed. He had to fight off human scavengers near the dumpsters in search of food. And no matter how slowly you closed up onto someone sitting on a bench somewhere, they would for some reason “shoo” you away instead of throw you a breadcrumb or something. People in the city were rude. That is what Barry figured a few days after he took the giant flight to move out of his tiny town.

Expectations of course are not always met and Barry found himself in a situation quite different to what he had imagined. In the city you always risked being run over. By cars, by bicycles, motorbikes, rollerblades, even by these ‘people’ on foot. They didn’t care that you were trying to munch away on that big piece of bread you found lying on the floor, or that you were in a hurry to gulp it down before some other big pigeon of the ‘Goodfeathers’ clan came and grabbed it from you. No, all they cared about was that you were in their way. Half the times they didn’t even pay attention to you.

Of course the fact that Barry was quite small compared to the fat pigeons of the city, did not help his case either.

Barry found it rough in the city. There was too much noise, too many people, too many pigeons, and not enough food for all of them. And they were all too egocentric. He had been in the city for a week and had made no friends. Hardly anyone would talk to him at all. Instead he had been pushed over a branch he was sleeping on one night for ‘trespassing private territory’; he had a close encounter with a motorbike helmet; had an ‘unfortunate accident’ on a shiny car top that was parked underneath the tree he was taking a nap in and got violently yelled at; and had to wrestle for his daily crumbs with a whole bunch of pumped-up pigeons.

That night with the owl hooting under the full moon and the car horns filling out the silence that should have been, he decided to put an end to his city expedition.

Living in a city was exciting. But you had to be rough to endure life with such high adrenaline levels. Barry preferred the breeze of his town; the gossip he exchanged with his friends every morning, the fact that the neighbor had named all the pigeons that resided in the tree in his yard; and the silence that came together with nightfall. He would return to the city every now and then; everyone needs such a reality check, simply to appreciate the wonders they already have. “Better be great in a town, than ignored in a city” he thought as he made the flight home.

 

All muffled up

CacofonixCacofonix is that sweet village bard in the Asterix adventures. The one who considers himself a musical genius and a superb singer, but who often causes people to run away scared or even causes thunderstorms the moment he starts singing. Yet he is angrily offended when people criticize his singing, to the point of dismissing them as barbarians.

It is evident that his name has an association with the word “cacophony” (a harsh discordance of sound), something which is all the more timely now with the rise of social networks giving everyone a voice and an opinion on anything, anywhere at any time. It often resembles a group of dogs barking loudly for no apparent reason. Because sometimes, this is exactly what all this “noise” actually is. Barking.

And it is usually the people who have nothing to say that yell the loudest. The ones who have no right to object a certain way of handling affairs, because they simply don’t have the knowledge, experience or even capacity to do so. And the ones who have no alternatives to offer. It is usually these that shout the loudest and the longest. Wanting something different and fairer to all, which in their language would mean someone else to do their job while they enjoy the benefits.

But with so much “bad reporting” out there, how can you trust in what you read/hear/see? How can you believe the village bard promoting himself as the greatest singer of all times, and missing out that he is actually a tone-deaf peasant? At least with Cacofonix, he is usually tied up and gagged during the banquet at the end of most Asterix and co. episodes to allow the other villagers to have a good time without having his screeching disturb them.

If only things could be as easy in real life too as in a cartoon…

Silence in the Metro

303366_underground_-subway_-metro_-station_2048x1536_(www.GdeFon.ru)The sun had already slit under the horizon as Lisa entered the metro station. This was one of the recently renovated stations and its marble walls were still shining white. People were rushing to arrive at the platforms, perhaps even catch the metro that would swing by at that very moment, instead of having to wait that extra 3-4 minutes.

There was plenty of noise, both from the trains arriving and departing and from the people, young and old, speaking to each other, to their phones, to anyone in general.

Lisa got off five stops further down. It was a trip that lasted less than ten minutes. And it didn’t seem any longer.

But there was something strange in that very moment she set her foot off the metro wagon. As if there was an eerie atmosphere, sending chills down her spine and causing her to shiver. It felt as if the whole world around her was moving in slow motion. There were so many people on that platform, queuing at the escalator that would lead them up to the exit above and to the square outside. No-one would take the adjacent stairs. “Typical of how comfortable our lives have become,” thought Lisa, as she observed the people surrounding her. Students, teens, middle-aged, elderly, there were people of all ages, forms, sizes and styles. But there was one weird thing everyone had in common.

No-one was talking.

There was absolute silence in that underground metro station.

The only thing heard was the faint footsteps from women’s heels, if there were any. But there was no noise. Nothing like what she had left five stations earlier. It was as if everyone was expecting something to happen. Not something good. As if at any moment now you would expect a rifle to sound. Running. Voices. Screams. Something. Something that would indicate there was still life down there.

Lisa felt as if she was being watched. She could even see herself from the back, as though she was part of a film noir. And she was the one in the red dress. The one sticking out from the crowd. The one targeted.

The escalator ride to the top seemed to take longer than the metro ride to that station. But at last she arrived.

Noise returned to her ears. The corridors leading to the square outside were bustling with life, instantly crumpling all conspiracy theories that had formed in her head.

“There you are!” shouted Francine as she grabbed Lisa’s arm and gave her a hug. “Wanna go to those cafés on the hill for a drink?”

“Yes. Please. Let’s!” breathed Lisa as her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythms.

 

Also part of  Daily Prompt: Twilight Zone

Also part of Daily Prompt: Land of Confusion

Also part of Daily Prompt: Safety First

Also part of Daily Prompt: Close Call

Also part of NaBloPoMo (November 2013)

That tip-tap in the roof

listening3The other night I heard it again. A tip-tap in the roof. I had heard it before but it was about 1-2 months ago and although it did freak me out, I soon forgot about it. But now it seems its back. It sounds like something is tiptoeing in the roof. In the space between the tiles and the ceiling. I don’t know what it is. And I’m not sure if I want to find out either!

I do wonder what it is though. And it is at times like this when your imagination truly goes wild. Hey, as long as your dreams don’t get affected, turning into nightmares from which you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, covering up over the top with your bed sheets in the hope that nothing will actually come crashing through the ceiling on to you. Like those weird creatures from The Golden Compass, or something similar…

I wonder if it’s The Borrowers living up there…Ok maybe just one. But still, I haven’t noticed anything missing so I’m not sure…Perhaps they actually do borrow stuff and then bring it back before I even notice its absence? Could happen.

Maybe it’s a pigeon trapped. Shouldn’t we help it out? But would you really risk going up there and being surprised by what it is? I don’t think I have either the suitable clothes or the necessary psychological power to face that challenge…I still remember the scare I had when my beloved cat discovered something under the oven and we thought it was a dead mouse, until my mum swept out a raw meatball. How it got under there at that condition no one knows…

I still wonder what it is…Thing is, I’m sure my curiosity will be swiped away by everything else that I should do or actually should be doing for that matter. In fact, I think I should get back to work. As long as I don’t hear a patter on the roof, I think it’ll be fine. But, one last question: what could it be??

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: A Source of Anxiety

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