The Silence of Sound

In a crowded room, the air is tightly coiled. People were not meant to be contained you see, and the numerous entities of labels float like username tagging in a videogame. Molecules collide with human thought, and the energy reverberates.


"How are you?" A person inquires without really wanting to know.
"Pretty good, and how about you?" Eyes glint with practiced care.
"Great." They reply, amused at their own usefulness.
Like a child given a toy to play with, all are satisfied with their rituals and make believe; placated by purpose.


The voices arise in a silent crescendo, meaningless phonemes vibrating the atmosphere. Particles swirl around like bees but slip through your fingers like a vapor. The mouths move with purpose. Thin, tight lips disappear in concentration, full red lips gab open proclaiming reign, unsure smiles curl up around the edges, chapped ones purse in self-satisfaction. A figure stares at the ground with her shameful lips, the ones that aren't making themselves useful. She would join them, but all the sounds they are making are ones she can't hear. Not really.