There is such beauty in a noiseless ambiance, isn’t it? Not always though. Standing in the foyer, I could hear the click of the door closing behind me reverberating through the hall. For so long I have been wrapped up in my own world various kind of high-pitched noises that I had forgotten the shrill cry of Silence. It sounds like a banshee crying in the distance that could make your ears bleed.
I cross the foyer and walk into the hall, stopping at a photograph hanging on the wall. An old picture of me sitting on my father’s shoulders giggling at the camera obviously held by my mother. A weak smile peeks out of my lips as I recall the day this photo was taken and giggling sound suddenly feels the hall following dad’s voice. But all of it stops suddenly as if being lost in a bluish fog of the eerie silence, like it is jealous of any other sound trying to outshine it. I walk further into the house crossing many more pictures that now have the shadow of silence looming behind them like a ghost. I am almost worried that I will be attacked by some undead creature trying to take over the house. I laugh at that thought, because clearly the silence in this big house is stronger than anything. I wonder if the new family who bought this house from me would be able to take down this monster.
I climb up the stairs to my room silently wishing for my phone to ring calling me back to work, but it doesn’t ring. I am not disinterested in walking through the rooms of my house where I grew up for eighteen years, but I am guilty to walk through the house where I hadn’t set foot on since after I turned eighteen. I never came home after I got a job abroad, I guess I got a little too proud.
I walk into my room and a faint smell of lavender drifts into my nostrils reminding me of my mother’s bedspread. My room looks just the same way it looked when I had left all those years ago. I plop down on the bed asking myself if had really not come home, even for the holidays. I am amazed to find that my brain almost immediately comes out with the answer as a big ‘No’. It almost feels like a conscience of mine somehow got materialized in front of me spitting the answers in my face like some police breaking down the crimes in front of its criminal. Well, I am the criminal here after all.
Sometimes we don’t need to be a murderer or a skilled criminal to commit a heinous crime. All we need is, to show a little ignorance or rejection and before you know it you’ve committed a serious crime. But, like us, nature has its own way of punishing such people.
I’m not someone who got out of the prison after some ten-fifteen years just to see her parents passed away. I am one of those people who though that parents matter too little when you have a house and a car of your own bought with your own money. But, after all these years when I’ve lost both of them and it is a little to late to turn back time and say, “Hey Mom, happy Thanksgiving!” or “Merry Christmas Dad!”, and I have hammered the last nail in the coffin by selling this house, Our house, I am no less than the most wanted criminals in the history. However, I will be punished, everyday when I pass by this house that won’t scream its emptiness but playful giggles and boisterous laughter of the new family. I will be punished everyday by the silence I will hear when I think about all those things I missed and let them miss. I will be punished by the loudest and the strongest sensation. I will be punished by the Silence I have carved on my own soul.