Sector 112, Parcel 1 and only, with complete silence. (unfinished)

Daniel really just wanted it to be quiet. That's all he wanted out of the lot; the silence and solitude that was promised by the deep woods. So far, all the wooded lots he'd taken a look at were simply not quiet enough. 1

In one, he had neighbors. The realtor informed him that they only used their cabin as a vacation home, and that they were not usually around to make noise, but that wasn't good enough. He wanted to be lonely, and he wanted to be lonely in perfect silence.2

The next lot was lakefront. It was very remote, and looked very nice, but those two factors were not nearly as important as the careful silence, which was shattered by the gentle whisper of waves crawling along the shore.3

The third lot was in the mountains, where the winds churned the treetops into a cacophony of scraping branches and leaves. 4

The fourth was by a freeway, the fifth by an airport, and the sixth already had a house on it; an older one made of aging timbers that creaked and grumbled in the wind.5

Daniel was begginning to give up hope. If he couldn't have absolute silence, then there was no such thing as a perfect retirement. For years and years (since he was fourteen years old), Daniel had been employed at the Mack truck factory in Flint, Michigan. He spent every day in the noise of the plant, and every evening in the noise of the city. He only escaped it once a year; on those magical one week vacations at the begginning of deer season. He always travelled to somewhere up north (a different location each time), never caring if he shot a deer. He hunted for the sake of the silence, and he often chose to never even disturb it with a gun, but let deer fall into the range of his scope and wander out, unscathed.6

In those times, he'd of sighed to himself contentedly, but that would have been much too loud.7

It was for this reason that Daniel purchased the seventh lot he looked at.8

He'd first seen it for sale at a DNR auction, glancing over the maps of bits of state land that were for sale in hope of noticing something truly remote. The cartographs were topographic, and color coated to reflect the status of each piece of land. Daniel's lot was the first and only one that caught his eye; a little swatch of green (which meant it was for sale) set amongst a big sea of read (uninhabited state land).9

"Sector 112," read the reference, "Parcel 1 and only, with complete silence."10

"I wonder what that means?" thought Daniel. "Does that mean its the only parcel in the sector?"11

He checked. That much was true.12

"But it could also mean that its the only one with complete silence," he mused to himself, as if the reference were written specifically for him.13

He bid ten dollars on it on a whim, hoping that nobody else had any interest in it. If there were no more bids on the lot, it would be awarded to him for that price, and even if it turned out to be a disappointment (as he was sure it would), he had only used ten dollars to be disappointed, and may even be able to make a bit more on the resale.14

What good luck Daniel had that day. No other bidder even saw Parcel 1 on the map.15

It was a week and ten dollars later when Daniel finally reached his lot.16

The "road" into the woods was nothing more than a long stretch of open field that ran treeless through the forest like a scar; overgrown as it was by tall grasses and brush. It obviously hadn't been driven down for quite some time, if ever. Daniel guessed that once upon a time, the military had done field tests and training wherever the path terminated, and he hoped that time was truly long past. Military operations are rarely very quiet, and in the blanketed silence of the remote wilderness, sound carries for miles.17

That's what was so surprising about the lot; it was perfectly quiet. Any sound that could have carried for miles, like traffic, or gunshots, or the sounds of animals, or the rustle of leaves; Daniel heard none of it. He thanked his diminished hearing for the first time in his life and sat on the hood of his car for awhile, with his eyes closed, listening....18

He heard the ticks and tocks of his cooling engine, and the scrape of his toe against the ground as his leg swung out rhythmically, and the friction sound of cloth on clothe to accentuate that motion.19

Soon, when his car had settled all the way, and he willed his nervous movement to cease, the silence settled over him like snow, or a flash flood, building in granduer and scope until its absolute quality became thick, substantial, collosal, epic.... Deified.20

Daniel didn't realize he was crying until he heard the softest tick of a single tear reverberate like a gunshot as it hit a fallen leaf. He'd never believed a place like this could exist until-21

MUNGUNLEI22

Daniel's eyes shot open. 23

"What was that?"24

It was like the wind had whipped by him at gale force, but only for the briefest of moments, picking up and dying down so suddenly that it was hard to say that it'd ever happened at all. 25

"And was that a voice I heard?" he thought. "What WAS that?"26

Daniel sat and contemplated for a moment, sitting perfectly still, but rigid and frightened, expecting that at any second the wind would roar at him again.27

"I'm going mad," Daniel laughed at himself. "I'm turning into a crazy old man."28

That is, of course, why he wanted to move up north; to go crazy in peace. Parcel 1 seemed like the perfect place to do that.29

The property seemed dense and claustrophobic with dead trees; branches gnarling and twisting around eachother, weaving intricately together for their eons of existance until the day that life left them in the comfort of eachother's arms. Even the large, ancient trees; the ones that remembered days before man, and the delicious touch of gods on earth, sat vacant and dry-hearted; only wood instead of maples, or pines, or towering black ash. There was no underbrush; just a still forest floor of sediment and moss; the only living thing, apparently, in the entire parcel. Daniel was shocked by the stealth he exhibited as he traversed his acreage. He noticed that he was stepping on dead sticks, and breaking branches as he walked, but they made almost no noise. The stealth was not his own; it belonged to the parcel, absorbing and stifling sound like the empty vacuum of deep space, only lonlier, and more remote.30

Daniel hummed to himself contentedly as he walked. The song was silence. He only knew the tune, as of then, but he hoped to learn the words soon enough.31

A week later, Daniel was already moved in.32

He'd left most of his posessions in his home. Not much could fit in the tent that served as his house. It'd made quite a bit of noise when he set it up, but since the parcel was completely devoid of wind, it was silent as he lay in it, not sure whether he was sleeping or not, as, in the darkness, either state of consciousness was equally without sensation.33

"MUNGUNLEI," said the wind. 34

"Yes, I know. I heard you the first time," thought Daniel as he dreamed.35

"Listen!" said the wind. And it stopped blowing and went quiet, so that Daniel could better hear what he heard.36

And what he heard was this:37

The breath of the trees. The crunch of a single insect eating a leaf. The slow hum of the moon orbitting the earth. Death. Happening. Death happening.38

Daniels eyes opened wide as he heard it, but it was dark as pitch, and they may as well have been closed.39

He heard them feeding; the grating scrapes of tooth against bone, the wet sound of flesh being minced betwixt the jars of predators. He listened deeper and heard what the victim was: the bristle of course hair that has known a thousand touches from loving hands, the slow rip of a tongue from a mouth that has tasted leftover turkey dinners, and greasy fingers, and "scientifically engineered" brand name dog food. He heard the clink of tags on a collar, but the way they fell did not allow him to read the name indented therein.40

"MUNGUNLEI!" said the wind again, rising and falling again in one monsterous gust.41

"Who are you?" thought Daniel, in a state that may or may not have been sleep, hearing the sound of traffic on the expressway over a hundred miles away filtering into his scope of sensation. "What is this?"42

The wind repeated itself. Daniel struggled to understand, but fell asleep again. This time, there were no dreams.43

~~~44

Her name was Daisy. Or it was "good dog". They were interchangable.45

Daisy had learned, so far in her short puppy life, that the world was divided into two types of things: things that move when you bite them, and things that do not.46

The things that move can't be bitten too hard, because that would make pain happen to them.47

The things that do not move can be bitten quite hard, and often eaten.48

She liked these things, because she liked eating, but she also liked playing, and things that didn't move didn't play very well.49

So she was glad the world was composed of both.50

Daisy didn't hardly ever bark. Sometimes other dogs barked, and she'd tell them sssh.... Stop barking. And then they would. 'Cause why bark? Why?51

She was such a good dog that the People gave her lots of toys. She liked the People. They owned the whole world! Daisy was happy that her people were so nice to her, and that they didn't even forget one of her toys when they took everything out of their house and put it in a big van to go someplace called "up north".52

"Thats going to be our new house, Daisy!" said Claire, who was the young girl one. "Isn't that exciting?!" 53

Daisy only knew what "house" and "Daisy" meant, and she heartily agreed. Houses were nice things to be said in that nice voice that people can have when things are nice, and so was Daisy. So was she.54

When they got out of the car, Daisy stood perfectly still for a very long time. She had to pee, but she didn't. Couldn't, really. She was terrified to move.55

It was the woods, and the silence in the woods. Everything was perfectly quiet.56