It was silent.

Not quiet; not dull, muffled, or muted. Silent. Noiseless. Soundless. There was only the deafening silence; unbreakable, yet so fragile. A silence that could only be interrupted, but never shattered. The roar of silence filled her ears, wormed its way into her brain, and sat there like rot.

As she walked through the barren streets, cracked and overgrown, her mind would briefly wonder; where was she? How far had she traveled? But then the silence would push against her, stifling her, and she would walk. The world around her was still, quiet; as if the silence that settled itself in her head had extended outwards, like a bubble that surrounded her; a paltry and unwilling conduit through which the silence could proliferate, unfurling from her, lashing out indiscriminately. Eventually, though, a thought would bubble its way to the surface again. A meager thought; drifting and listless. A memory, perhaps. But she had no recollection of what the images meant.

They came in colorful bursts, blipping into existence just as fast as they burned out. A red balloon floating against grey clouds. A child in a yellow sundress, bright blue eyes and a smile to match. Fireworks in the night sky. Fresh snow glimmering in the sun. A man with a beard holding a drink. The images dimmed, fading away as the silence crowded her brain, pushing against them. Weathering them. Wearing them down. So she walked.

Again, the pictures boiled up, subdued in hues and soft tones. A white dress billowing in the wind. A crisp hospital room and the cry of new life. A headstone on a rainy day. A bouquet of flowers and the flash of a smile. A tender kiss, full of love. The collection of colors and sounds blurred, melting away like ice under the summers sun. The hum of silence permeated her, buzzing through her mind as she walked.

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The images came in flashes now, fast, strong; filled with need. Encompassed in the sensation of importance and desire. Cold hands wrapped around a warm coffee mug. A baby smiling, her sleepy eyes full of love. The ebb and flow of the ocean. Fireflies on a summers evening. A bloodstain glistening on the pale carpet. Wind teasing hair. A bearded man smiling.

Her eyes burned, her brain felt like wildfire. Yet, the woman walked. She walked and walked as the lightning barrage of pictures blurred behind her eyes, their meaning obscure despite the modicrum of importance that still clung on despite the silence that hushed her.

Thunder bellowing overhead. The small embrace of a child. Rose petals on the floor. The cold glint of a gun's barrel. Slow dancing in the rain. A puppy with a red ribbon around its neck. Blood dripping from a limp arm. A brown teddy bear. A bearded man lying on a couch, eyes open. The hum of silence grew ever louder, dampening everything else. She walked without stopping, the images that flickered through her mind now were far away, caught in the sticky web of silence; a void of nothingness that filled her head. But still, they persisted, despite the suffocating blankness that pushed out, consuming, filling itself with the mind-colors.

More colors blinked behind her eyes, faded and dim. The nothingness curled around them, like shadowed tendrils caressing them, bearing down, swallowing them inch by inch. A dog with a stick. Flowers. A lake. A crying child. Broken glasses. The night sky. A haunting scream. A gunshot. Warmth. Rain. Hands slick with blood. Paintings. Hunger.

Hunger. The manifestation of hunger. There was nothing else. Just silence and hunger and nothingness. She was hunger. She was silence. She was nothing. Nothing but the void. The void to be filled- the void that filled. An endless cycle of filling. So she walked, and she filled. And with every fill, the void grew.

She was hunger. She was silence. She was the void. It filled the shape of her.