“The silence was deafening” was always a peculiar phrase, yet everyone understood it. A silence so powerful that you could hear a pin drop they would say.
Such a cliché.
Julia Castellio thought different. The silence was in fact deafening. It was a constant roar similar to a raging waterfall suffocating all haunting melodies of nature. Silence that caused ripples to travel across still water, a silence that shook the earth, silence that woke her.
Her smokey grey eyes snapped open to beautiful colossal darkness. A darkness that embraced every corner with murky, yet loving hands. She couldn’t see a thing. Her spine had the willpower and rigidness of a sergeant major. The slightest movement caused her bones to crackle with immense pain. Her once soft and slender fingers, now rough and stiff, were intertwined around what felt like a dry and cracked stick.
Ignoring the pain, her hands found their way to her sides stretching outwards. Except, they couldn’t move more than an inch away. They were smacked right on a thick rough wall. Sliding her hands across the wooden barrier, realization struck her. It made her want to laugh and cry out at the same time. She remembered everything. The fight, the death that swallowed her family up like a small pill downed with water. And of course, the funeral, her funeral.
Oh, she was there alright. And what a funeral it was. No, she was not dressed in her best clothes nor did she have a fancy church where people wept indefinably for her soul. Instead, she was strangled to death in a nearby forest with nothing but dirt to defend herself. She remembered the last gasp of air that never made it to her lungs. Her lungs closed in on her, much like the space she is now in. They then chucked her body in an old chipped wooden box and into an irregularly squared ditch, and remorsefully threw in one red rose. As though with that, God would forgive their act of defiance.
Julia thrashed wildly, pounding her legs against the confined space. The worn out wood gave up its years of built up resistance and cracked. Ignoring the painful shards of wood digging into her back, she continued to flail around. The petals, now probably brown and limp, fell like confetti at their own funeral, sliding past her abdomen and onto the soil, slowly drowning themselves, going home. A loud scream of frustration made it out of her dry throat, and she began to sob hysterically. She curled her bloodied fingernails into themselves to numb the pain and turned to her side.
The few hours she lay there felt like millennia. Her brain, being its own psychotic self, brought up a truckload of memories, and thoughts, chilling Julia to the bone. But then, like the sound of church bells on a Sunday morning, the silence which brushed along her tear stained cheeks was not so silent anymore.
The silence was now filled with whispers from the wintry blanket on top. Sneaky, secretive whispers that fell through specks of dirt and in between cracks of the wooden box. Incoherent whispers that filled Julia’s heart with twisted, unceasing, relentless cold dark revenge.
A small grin stitched itself onto her face.
Why panic? She thought. For she knew that they were coming.
They say that souls would not rest in peace until they resolve whatever matter they had left in their past life. Now it’s Julia’s time…