Chapter 1:

Loud Silence

Neglecting Thanatos

It was almost the end of autumn when we saw each other.

I remember how she was the most evident person in all that crowded area, shining brightly among many. She was lost in her own being, far away from life's grace and closer to death's grasp.

 It's said there are two types of people:

those ruled by the desire for life—Eros

and those ruled by the desire for death—Thanatos.

And with her dark black guitar bag, and her essence, she was sure not to be the one to chase after life's desires. She was the type of person to fade away in a crowd, yet still be visible to eyes. Finding ways to get even more ghost-like to the souls of the society. She would put her headphones on and listen to music, cutting her bonds with life and every essence.

It was evident that she wasn't the one to be in life's melody, yet Thanatos's disorder of harmony. She was the ghost of our town, yet her soul was far away from dying, but living in confusion. She was the most recognizable soul among many. Her demeanor was like a black butterfly and the others spread color to life itself. She was the corrupted voice of her own, yet she was like a harmony to my eyes that could not bear to witness her existence.

I remember how I was reborn when we met.

I was always the type to give up on things. Not to be the one to chase after life's passions and the things that lasted longer. I always believed that my chance of having something that would live even after me would be second to none. I was sure that I was a lost cause in life, losing the only thing that I could value even against things I could understand, yet not act upon.

She was my muse that helped me have rebirth. But not with giving life to me, but actually killing me.

In my most desperation-filled moments, she was there. I lived in that town for years, but I did not remember a single moment that I felt alive before I met her.

I actually understood that not living was the way for me to chase after Eros, but to have Thanatos right next to me.

We were both like flowers, one death being born inside another's death. She was like a stingy rose, pushing everything away in her road with her razor-sharp essence, yet so graceful falling among it. She taught me to live, under death's acceptance.

Life's quiet demeanor, its silence had captured us both and finally pushed us to hear how loud we were.

One evening, as the city lights began to flicker, she turned to me and spoke in a voice that carried the weight of all the silent moments we had shared. "Life's silence," she murmured, "it's not empty, you know. It's where the truest conversations happen."

She told me this in a serious manner after we started getting closer for weeks. She was even more serious now. Her still demeanor, with her pale gazes and her soul-like movements, were all replaced with a sensitive curiosity about life. It was like my energy to living, which she gave me in the first place was restored in her for some reason too.

The weight of her words settled in me like a lead weight. Her insight into life's silence struck a nerve, resonating with the quiet chambers of my soul. In her turbulent silence, I found a stability that had eluded me before. It was like a blunt force, a wake-up call. With each passing day, her turbulent existence became the crucible in which my own identity forged itself. She was the catalyst that drove me to explore the depths of Eros and Thanatos, to understand the delicate dance between life and death that we wove together.

I had always believed I was tethered to death, a captive of its unrelenting pull. Until I saw her. She was a specter, even closer to death's embrace than I. Yet, in her, I glimpsed a flicker of life's essence, a fragile ember struggling to ignite. My efforts, once futile, took on new meaning in her presence. I held on to life's fleeting moments, cherishing them as if they were the last gasps of a dying star. She was the essence that had built my entire life, that caught the lost essence of my being with her unstable essence.

But to her, my efforts were like drops in a raging storm. She could mend the fractures in my soul, breathing life into my existence, yet her own turmoil remained unyielding."

So I wanted to hear her. Truly heard her for the first time.

As the fading light painted the sky in somber hues, our worlds collided with words and emotions. "Why do you insist on hearing the silence?" she implored, her voice a fragile echo in the vast expanse of the night.

For the very first time, I felt like I was speaking, rather than just mumbling. I wanted to fill her heart just like she filled mine.

"Because your silence," I replied, my voice unwavering, "has given me a voice. It has taught me that even in the stillness, there is something waiting to be heard."

Tears glistened in her eyes, mirroring the stars that hung above us. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice a gust of wind through autumn leaves. "My silence has grown so loud, it drowns out the very essence of life. It leaves me with nothing but echoes of my own despair."

I then understood it was her silence that broke all the walls. Her silence gave her elegance. The silence that is so loud, that even I could not hear.

At that moment, the truth struck me like a sledgehammer, illuminating the tapestry of our souls. Her silence was a gift and a burden, a beacon and a void. It was the crucible in which I found my voice, and the tempest that threatened to consume her.

"Then let me be the one to listen," I implored. "Let me be the one to bear witness to it." And I added, "There may be no lines in this world of silence and noise, but yet, I can at least listen to the loud silence that, I know. Do not listen to the god of death, listen to me."

Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting the fragile light of the stars. She looked at me, her gaze searching for something, perhaps an anchor in the tempest. "I don't know if I can," she confessed, her voice a wisp of vulnerability.

But I held her closer, then she stopped crying.

I said, "You may be deaf to life, but at least I want to hear you. I want to hear the silence, the loud silence that heard mine. I want to stop the God Of Death from getting to you."

Our voices weren't heard by many, but at last, we were both hearing each other's silent voices.

Just Parker
Ace Axel