The next day as he travelled through the mountains, Sparrow stopped himself from getting bored by continually throwing the alarm clock, off cliffs, against rocks, into trees, and once he even managed to get it into the river that flowed at the bottom of the gorge he was walking through. None of that deterred the alarm clock. If anything, it seemed to make it more annoyed.

'Just go away,' Sparrow would scream at it. The alarm clock would just sit there, resolutely ticking away.

Toward the end of the day, Sparrow reached a small hand-carved sign that said The monastery of the silent brothers. It was at a fork in the trail and Sparrow decided a night with a bunch of silent monks would be better than a night alone with the alarm clock. After walking up the slope for an hour, he came across a stone almost castle-like monastery built right into the side of the mountain foothills. There, monks wearing orange robes moved slowly and silently through the building.

Sparrow approached slowly. He moved his feet lightly and shoved the alarm clock as far into his robes as it would go. At the door, a monk just a little bit older than Sparrow bowed to him. The monk put his hands under his head like he was sleeping, then held a hand over his heart and moved it up and down and in a beating motion. Have you come to sleep or to live?

Sparrow smiled and held his hands under his head. To sleep.

The monk nodded and held open the door. Sparrow grinned. It was quiet inside, beautifully quiet. Just what he needed after spending so much time with that psychopathic alarm clock, he gently walked in but the monk shook his head and passed a pair of woollen slippers that padded his feet completely. The monk, who was barefoot had an almost tiptoeing way of walking that meant his feet were completely silent as they move through the building.

In each room, monks were writing, painting, cooking, cleaning and building all without a sound. In one room, a monk held out his hand, while another monk stabbed it repeatedly with the needle. The monk who has been stabbed turned his eyes to Sparrow, his face was completely empty of all pain and emotion. He was completely silent.

Perhaps there's something I can learn here, Sparrow thought. Smoke drifted slowly out of a nearby room. Inside, the floor was concrete, and a pit was set in the centre with glowing hot coals burning on it. There, monks as young as five walked across the glowing embers as casually as a normal person would stroll across a grass lawn. The monks were graceful. Even their feet didn't make a sound as they stepped across the embers and the monks’ faces were completely blank, void of all emotion and suffering.

Sparrow nodded his head to the guide, pointed himself and then thumped his chest. I would like to live here.

The monk grinned. But even then he didn't laugh. He showed Sparrow to a room that was sealed and insulated with lamb's wool. A sign on the door said, visitors. The monk made a pig-like expression with his face. This room is for snoring.

They don't even like snoring Sparrow thought. He walked into the room and admired how the door closed without a single squeak. Then he lay back on his pillow and fell fast asleep.

****

Sparrow woke feeling more rested than perhaps any other time in his life. The silence was unnerving, but it also seemed to quieten the thoughts in his mind, even his inner voice seem loud compared to the monks. As Sparrow put on his clothes. He felt the alarm clock in his pocket. Very gently, he took it out and put it on the bed.

Sparrow held up one finger and tried to give the thing his most menacing stare.

'Do not stuff this up for me.' Sparrow whispered, ‘Or I will smash your stupid glass screen. I will melt your metal into toenail scissors, I will sell the hands of your clock face to sewer cleaners.’

He wasn't sure if the clock understood or not. It just sat there staring back at him, Sparrow threw the blanket over the clock and then, with care, closed the door behind him.

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The silent guide monk was waiting for him at the door and gave a smile. He put his hands under his head and then gave a thumbs up. Sleep good?

Sparrow nodded and gave a double thumbs up. Very good.

The pair of them made their way to the breakfast area where dozens of monks sat eating. Their chopsticks didn't so much as touch the bowls they ate from and they chewed without sound.

Sparrow carefully danced his chopsticks, and then pulled out a single grain of rice from his bowl at a time. Eating took almost five times as long as it usually did when he wolfed his food down but there was something satisfying about the lack of sound in the room. After breakfast 25 candles were brought out by an older monk.

The candles were put in front of each of the monks and finally, a slightly smaller candle was set in front of Sparrow. Another monk came along and silently touched a burning flame to each candle. As the candles were lit each monk held their hand out above them. It was then that Sparrow noticed the bubbling blisters on some of the younger monks hands and the toughened skin on the older monks palms. The smell of searing flesh filled the room and Sparrow glanced at his own candle. Could he really do it? Could he bear the pain these monks faced every morning?

Sparrow gulped and held his hand above the flame. It was warm, almost comforting, in the slightly cold room. But then, all of a sudden, it began to burn. Like a piercing hot needle was being shoved through his skin. Sparrow swallowed. Sweat began to drip down his face. His candle was only a quarter done and already his hand was starting to blister up. He looked to his right, a younger monk perhaps only five or six years old, had his hand even lower to the candle than Sparrow and the monk's face was completely devoid of all emotion. The young monk looked around at Sparrow and gave a warm smile. Sparrow's arm began to shake. His brain was screaming at them. Why are you doing this? Why are you putting me in pain? And then finally he yanked his arm away from the candle and bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

A few of the older monks looked at him. His arm wooshing away from the candle had made a slight sound. Sparrow tried to control his breathing. To get it quiet again.

He looked at his hand. The centre of his palm was puffy and blisters were growing underneath his skin.

Sparrow tried to put his hand in his pocket. For a moment, he rested it against a cool metal object in his pocket that felt good against his palm.

But then Sparrow thought to himself, what cool metal object? and he pulled the alarm clock out of his pocket. He stared at it, as did the monks next to him. It was emitting the tiniest ticking sound. The monks shook their heads. Some even moved their hands away from their candles - their concentration was broken.

Sparrow shoved the alarm clock back into his pocket and tried to wrap it up in his cloak.

He carefully slid off the stool he'd been sitting. He knew what was coming. If he could just get outside in time before it-

'FIRE.' The alarm clock scream, 'FIRE BURNING UNDERNEATH YOUR HAND.

‘Shut up,’ Sparrow said.

‘FIRE,’ The alarm clock screamed even louder. The monks around him were lifting their hands off their candles. Fire blazed in their eyes.

'FIRE!!!' The alarm clock screamed as loud as it could. In other rooms around the building, doors began to open. Monks poured out into the hallway as Sparrow rushed through the kitchen door. The monks were following him as his alarm clock screamed, 'SPARKS, HEAT, BURNING. LOOK UNDER YOUR HAND - FIRE!'

The monastery was like a maze.

As Sparrow sped past, the monks on the ember pit began to burn their feet. The monk with the needles pushed through the palm of his hand, started to scream. All around the monastery the detached expressions on the monks’ faces transformed into anger. One grabbed Sparrow by the shoulder, twisting him against a concrete wall, Sparrow flailed out, ducked under a swing from the monk and then threw the alarm clock to a mass of monks pouring down the hallway towards him. The monks let out horrified gasps as the alarm clock screamed at them.

'MOVE YOUR HAND. YOUR RIGHT HAND YOU IDIOT. IT'S ON FIRE, YOU'LL GET BLISTERS.' Finally, Sparrow spotted the front door. He threw it open.

A monk kicked him in the back and Sparrow went flying out into the rocky ground in front of the monastery. More monks poured out and began savagely beating him with the fists and their elbows and their knees. Sparrow lit his hands on fire and tried to wave them at the monks to get them away. But two of the older monks stepped forward and clasped Sparrow's burning hands in their own. The monks smiled as their flesh heated up and Sparrow, horrified, tried to back away But the monks' grip was like iron. They held his hands as another monk slammed a stone into Sparrow's face over and over.

Finally, Sparrow fell backwards, blacking out on the ground.

His final memory was of the monks throwing the screaming alarm clock at him, then the door closing to the monastery without a sound.