The Dead Make No Sound: A Dystopian Horror Flash Fiction

Micro fiction (2 minute listen) | Horror/Sci-fi

This was actually a Macabre Monday piece. To me it’s the sound of someone slowly losing their grip on reality after basically a world ending event. The idea that sound was linked direct to the idea of continuing to exist was fascinating to me. So I did a micro-fiction about it.

When people say ‘the silence is deafening,’ I never knew what they meant.

I’d frown and nod and sip my cappuccino. It was deafening. Yeah, cool.

Now I understand.

The sound of silence is the sound of a deserted street. It’s the sound of blood pounding in your head. It’s the sound of your own neurons cranking up the gain. Of absolutely fucking nothing turned up to a jet engine whine.

Desperate to invent some vessel for life, of human or animal existence. Like listening to a seashell, except your cochlear is the seashell and your blood is the sea.

It is the sound of non-existence.

There is nobody here now. They’re all gone.

I can see their forms scattered, here and there, like Barbie dolls in a messy child’s room. At first glance, it looks like there are only a couple but if I turn my head slowly and unfocus my eyes I can take them all in.

I can see them all. I can’t hear them. The dead relinquish any claim on sound the moment they die.

Did you ever think of that? They still exist in sight. You can still touch them. They smell for sure and I suppose theoretically they have a taste.

They never make another sound though.

Except there is one sound.

I can hear footsteps on the hard, jittery gravel.

I’m not alone here after the bomb. There is another. There must be another.

The alternative is untenable.

The dead make no sound.

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Clearly, you are a reader of discerning taste. Perhaps you’d care to see some of my other wares?

Hopi Springs: A grim dystopian short story about a Dad just trying to find some water for his little girl.

8 Minutes: Lenny has left his chipcard upstairs. Without it, he will die a slow and agonising death. The clock is ticking.

Blood & Feathers: a short horror story that meditates on the dangers of taking the easy way out.