The Listener
written by: Peter Rehn
The city stirred before I did. It always had, it likely always would.
When I finally crawled out of my bed, the room would usually be filled with the hum of traffic, horns merging with the sing-song calls of street vendors. Today. Today nothing. Just silence.
Not quiet. Not still. Something different.
I rubbed my ears, wondering if I’d gone deaf overnight. I clapped. Stomped. Snapped my fingers. My hands struck one another in perfect, silence.
The strange part was, I could feel the vibrations. Feel my heel on the floor, the tiny quiver in my palms when I clapped. But no sound followed. None.
A lump started to rise in my throat, slowly becoming larger.
I got dressed in my frayed jeans, my frayed checkered shirt, and headed out the door.
The street was alive, as streets are supposed to be, or moving. Vehicles passed by, wheels spinning, but they glided easily like toys in a dream, soundlessly. Humans passed, lips moving, faces twisted in disputes. But I could not hear them. A bus passed by a cyclist, the driver frantically waving. No brake sound. No yelled cursing. No horn.
A woman had spilled a cup of coffee on the pavement in front of a café. It exploded on the sidewalk, shards shooting in a complete, quiet curve. She kneeled to gather up the shards, talking to a man standing there, but again I couldn’t hear anything.
It was as if I saw the world muted.
When I reached the third block, I had begun to wave at people passing by, mouthing “Can you hear me,” trying to attract their attention. They blissfully ignored me, however. A couple scowled in irritation, as if I were intruding on their space.
I tried to yell. My throat ached. My chest heaved. It didn’t work. I couldn’t even hear the faintest echo in my own head.
It was at that point that I realised this was not normal silence. This was something more of an absence. A vacuum where sound had previously been, now occupied by a space so empty that it seemed to be sucking at me, the way reducing pressure makes your ears pop.
I kept going.
By the time afternoon had come, the air had grown much more dense. With every step, I resembled a wader in water. My own breathing the echo of an empty ritual, something I could feel but not confirm.
A flock of pigeons flew out of the plaza in a wild scatter. I heard the pounding, the wing action like staccato rounds. All silent.
I turned into an alley and halted.
There, on the other sidewalk, was a man. He wasn’t budging, like the others. All the others continued that strange, silent pantomime. Chattering, gesturing, laughing, but he stayed still. He just… listened.
His head was tilted, like a hunter catching some distant rustle in the bushes.
His eyes caught mine.
He smiled.
And I knew that he was the first human being I’d talked to all day who knew.
I walked up to him, my steps hastening. He stood motionless, watching. When I was a couple of feet away from him, he raised a finger and pressed it against his lips. Not the shh shape, but something sharper. Warning.
I mouthed, What?
He leaned in close enough for me to smell him, and whispered. His lips went slow, with care.
I didn’t hear anything.
But I knew.
They’re listening now.
I turned, looking down the street. The throng shifted in a normal way, but it had an odd synchrony to it now, as if marionettes were being manipulated by unseen strings. A businessman halted in his step, his head swivelling slowly until he was staring directly at us. His grin was wide. Too wide.
I glanced at the Listener, for that’s what he’d become in my mind at that point, but he was already disappearing.
No step. No path. Only the echo of his warning in the empty air.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The city lights filtered through the blinds in pale orange strips. I had vowed that shadows moved across them. Too large to be people, too sleek to be cars.
I tried to hum to myself, just to remind my mind what noise was.
Nothing.
Somewhere out there in the darkness overhead, something was listening.
And for the first time, I realised that it wasn’t just the city that had grown still.
It was the world.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – Echoes of a Silent City
- What Lingers - October 13, 2025
- The Listener - September 17, 2025
- Whispers in the Downpour - July 21, 2025
