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COMING AND GOING

It’s silent. Apart from a soft rumble becoming increasingly distant, a small tick of a large clock and a gentle rattle from somewhere below. Empty. Worn. Over-used and crumbling at the edges.  Just holding itself together. Dark shadows peep around corners and cracks, and dusty light crawls around the echoing arch. No sunlight reaches here; instead it's replaced with a buzzing incandescence and an occasional pop as the energy runs out. Reflected echoes bounce around softly coming and going whenever they please. For a short second this hollow, broken underworld is strangely peaceful.    

                                                                                                                                         

Then the surge hits. The wave sweeps through, a massive roar of rushing, bumping, lateness and a noise that is so distinctive, like a gigantic swarm, with each individual tiny sound staying totally unique. There are a thousand words hanging in the tight air but nothing is really said. The walls listen to the muttering and chattering; a welcomed company. Desperate glances are thrown around but none manage to see the strength and elegance of the place in which they hover. Currents form, moving in ups and downs never arriving anywhere or achieving anything. As the wave grows it consumes any free space it can find, until the mild air reaches the verge of suffocation. This builds, squeezes becoming stretched and unbearable. A roaring noise begins to grow like a whisper through a megaphone. However, this time, an unusually welcomed sound. Liveliness stirs in the swarm, nothing yet is seen but the rising groans and deafening growl are so loud, it's as though your hearing has been pinched away. As all senses begin to fade you’re left with nothing but a growing numbness.

Now the echoes and the buzzing cannot be heard. Only the faraway roar which is distinctively recognised as the prompt arrival of something awaited. With a deafening screech it arrives, and the invisible scratchy scent of friction is released and begins to creep around the shadows. Before emotions and relief have time to seep back in, spaces are re-created, the wave gradually sinks and the shadows scuttle back to their corners. And as quickly as it arrived, it departs, taking with it hundreds of untold stories waiting to be unwrapped and with one last heavy breath which shakes and tests the nooks and crannies, it disappears again, with a low and muffled whistle goodbye into the black.                                 

                                                          

The scattered air breathes out, the growing fragments of light begin to move and finally, a cloak falls, which covers every chip and mistake like a layer of dust. And once again as the place considers its imminent loneliness; it’s silent.

 

 

 

By Molly Sellers