Silence
I used to love silence. Between the hours of 1 and 5 in the morning, I was most comfortable. No one bothered me then. When I grew up, I moved myself into a forest close to a mountain whose name I don't care about anymore. Today was the day I needed to make the dreaded trip into the closest town, 78 miles away. I loaded up my truck, turned the key in the ignition, and heard the engine roar to life. It was one of the man-made sounds I didn't completely hate. 7 months since I was last in town, buying a new window pane from the old hardware store woman with the droopy eye. The silence was discomforting for once, I couldn't hear any people when I got out of the truck, nor could I see any. Only the wind kept me company. I didn't hear the normally cacophonous music from the bar next to the hardware store. I walked into the store, and I found them. The droopy eyed lady and her 8 year old son were trapped under a fallen shelf. Except they weren't them. They looked newly dead, but they were still moving. Blood everywhere. I could hear a slight radio static in the back room. I took what I needed and drove back to my cabin. The silence is overbearing.