By: Tayler Anne Klein

I broke the silence with a short cough. If anyone else had been in
the sunlit room with me, they would have started and stared as if
I’d broken a silence not meant to be disturbed.

I stepped into the doorway, my socks making soft patting noises
on the wood floor. I brushed my fingers on the rough white walls,
slowly so that I could feel every groove, every contortion that
there was. In the corner sat an old four poster bed clothed in a
white comforter with one white pillow. I slowly made my way to
the bed and gingerly climbed on top of it while it creaked beneath
my weight.

I looked around the once familiar room. The old lamp sat on the
same nightstand, and the white curtain still hung on the white
rods, enveloping the white windowpanes. The sun, usually a
comfort, one that was warm, washed the bare room out.

The silence was back. No birds, no laughter, no music, no voices.
Even the yelling would have been preferred to this.