- for silence.

I wake, and the silence roars, it bellows, it thunders. I quail under the cover with my hands over my ears, until I can make sense of everything I can’t hear.

Then, I go about my morning as usual. Shower, underwear, cup of tea, clothes, teeth, shoes, go.

The city is empty. There isn’t a person to be seen. Nothing moves. There is no sign of ‘why’, only what is, which is that everyone is gone.

First, be rational. Panic later. I calmly dig my phone from my pocket, and dial up my brother. His phone rings, and rings, and rings, and my stomach is shrinking, and-
-he answers?

Where is everyone? I try not to let on how much I’m freaking out.

Whut?

No one is here. The city is empty.

…whut?

I’m serious! There’s no one here!

Are you even awake?

This question stalls my brain. Er.

Dude, he says, I’m in the city right now, and beyond his voice I can here all the sounds that should be surrounding me.

Where?

Swanston and Bourke. With those funny skinny statues.

I run down the street.
Now I’m here and no one is here!

Where are you?

Here!

I can’t see you, where are you?

Yes, I agree, lowering the phone and looking at these empty streets, where am I?

SOMEWHERE QUIET, says the city.

Every door, every window, every switch, track, catch, lock and hatch opening and closing at once in a great crash of talking buildings. The city’s voice.

YOU WANTED QUIET, DIDN’T YOU?

Crashcrashroarboomcrash.

IT’S WHAT YOU ASKED FOR. AREN’T YOU GRATEFUL? OH. DID…DID YOU JUST PISS YOUR PANTS?

Yes, I squeak.

OH.

I SEE.

And the world returns. There are people everywhere. Taxis. Trams. Horse and carriages. Shoppers. Students. Office workers and lattes and people people people.

Hey, my brother claps me on the shoulder, there you are.

Oh.

Did you piss your pants?