One particularly restless midnight, the rain began to drum against the roof, sounding like a steady, rhythmic "mmm, mmm" that mirrored the humming in his own mind. He walked to the window, looking out into the yard. Somewhere out there, beneath the old oak tree, was the of his history—the place where he had buried the "bones" of a life he once knew.
Elias lived in a house where the silence was heavy, but never truly quiet. At night, the floorboards didn’t just creak; they whispered names he hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. He felt as though he were living at the where the darkness was so thick he could no longer tell the difference between the night outside and the "hell" of his own memories.
He took a breath, letting the silence of the morning finally be just that—silence.
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