Episode: Silence, Properly Curated

Episode: Silence, Properly Curated
—Diana’s Account

The staff room is a place of contradictions.

It is meant for rest, yet rarely quiet.
Meant for professionals, yet governed by impulse.

I “tolerate” it in loose terms.

Because I have learned how to shape it.

Assigned Seating

Administration, in its infinite wisdom, decided we required “collaborative seating.”

I was placed in the center.

Of course I was.

The most talkative cluster. The loudest personalities. The ones who believed silence was a problem to be solved.

I sat down.

Placed my iced tea to the right.
My book to the center.
My earbuds—unused—beside it.

And began reading.

“Diana, what do you think about—”

“I do not,” I replied calmly, eyes never leaving the page.

A pause.

“…Right,” they said.

They tried again.

And again.

Each attempt met with the same thing:
Technically polite responses.
Emotionally impenetrable conclusions.

By the end of the week…

They moved.

I did not.

Wellness Culture

“You’re very… quiet,” one of them said one afternoon, sitting across from me uninvited.

“I am at peace,” I replied.

“That’s not… normal,” she pressed gently. “You should open up more.”

I closed my book. Slowly.

“I wake before dawn,” I began, voice even. “In a home that does not speak unless spoken to. My children observe more than they express. My husband prefers silence to noise. We exist in quiet ritual.”

She blinked.

“I read. I teach. I return. There is no chaos. No unnecessary interaction. Only intention.”

A pause.

“…That sounds…”

“Serene,” I finished.

She stood up shortly after.

She did not check on me again.

Snack Sharing Catastrophe

“Homemade perogies!” someone announced brightly. “Everyone take one!”

A container was placed in front of me.

I looked at it. Then at them.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh come on, don’t be antisocial!”

I folded my hands.

“Do you know,” I said calmly, “how many surfaces those have likely contacted?”

They laughed nervously.

“Hands. Counters. Airborne particles. Cross-contamination vectors. Each step introduces variables.”

The room grew quieter.

“I prefer controlled intake,” I concluded.

No one offered me food again.

The Music Debate

It began, as these things do, with noise.

Pop music. Loud. Repetitive.

“I think we should have background music!” someone declared.

“I prefer silence,” I said.

“That’s depressing.”

“Is it?”

They insisted on alternatives.

“Something upbeat!”
“Something neutral!”

They turned to me.

“…Fine,” I said softly. “If silence is unacceptable.”

A pause.

“Gothic metal. Post-rock. Post-punk. Darkwave.”

They stared.

“…What?”

“And more recently,” I continued, “visual kei.”

Blank expressions.

“Soundtracks, in particular. Bands that understand atmosphere.”

“Do you have an example?”

“I do.”

I played it.

Low. Controlled.

Layered guitars. Haunting vocals. Slow, deliberate pacing.

The room… shifted.

Not louder.

Heavier.

Uncomfortable.

“…This feels like a funeral,” someone muttered.

“How perceptive,” I replied.

Within minutes—

“Maybe silence is better.”

“Agreed.”

The music stopped.

Peace returned.

The Book Club Mistake

They invited me, of course.

“You’re perfect for this!” they said.

I attended once.

“The theme is emotional growth,” someone explained.

I nodded. “Surface-level, at best.”

They laughed. I did not.

“The protagonist mistakes reaction for development. The narrative rewards impulsivity rather than introspection. It is structurally inconsistent.”

Silence.

“…I liked it,” someone said weakly.

“I’m aware,” I replied.

I was not invited back.

I kept the book.

Decoration War

They tried to brighten the space.

Colors. Plants. Motivational quotes.

I added… subtlety.

Black accents.
Minimalist arrangements.
A single, elegant gothic frame.

Nothing excessive.

Just enough.

The contrast was… striking.

Their decorations looked louder by comparison.

Messier.

Mine remained cohesive from my childrens drawings to trinkets I've picked up from the dollar stores.

Contained.

They eventually stopped adding things.

Reputation

Rumors formed, as they always do.

“She’s always judging.”
“She notices everything.”

I hadn’t been.

Not consciously.

But once I heard it…

I allowed it.

A glance here.
A pause there.

Silence, held just long enough.

Behavior changed.

Voices lowered.
Actions corrected.

Peace… increased.

End of Day

The staff room is loudest when the day ends.

Relief turns into noise.

I remained seated in my regular spot.

Reading.

Still.

One conversation ended.

Then another.

Then another.

Not because I asked.

Because silence… spreads.

By the time I closed my book—

The room was quiet.

Final Thought

They believe I avoid people.

That I withdraw.

That I isolate.

They are correct.

I do retreat from chaos and stupidity by combating it.

I refine it.

Shape it.

Anhiliate it…

Into something thats disipated into nothingness after the ashes are gone from the wind.

I picked up my iced tea.

And left first.