The Dividing Silence


He waited there in the decorous sharp lines of a skilful seamstress. One who had the ability to conceal his graceless and weary configuration into an egocentric stature of power. Freshly steamed, black polyester clung to his chalky skin. His shoes were polished to a pristine shine, giving him the ability to confront his decadence each day as he tied the laces. His left hand held a leather briefcase, its tightly drawn seams securing contents that equipped unfathomable worth. His right hand clung the streamline telephone that infiltrated city billboards. If only they could spare fragments of their marketing efforts into giving a damn about others. They preach the advantages of the metal boxes but fail to mention the addiction and arrogance that acquaints those able to afford the abominations. With each new advancement, they abandon more who can’t follow their rapid progressions. I was left behind 5 years ago.


Once receiving his coffee and emptying a pink sweetener packet, he puckers his cracked lips and takes a singular sip. Within seconds, his face is swamped by disgust as a subtle cough signifies his rejection. In outrage he plunges the cup towards a corner inhabiting what he assumed as rubbish. However, it was someone’s home. The coffee spills, seeping through cracks within the eroded cement as the paper cup is withered by the hot liquid- leaving a stain of both brown pigment and his entitlement.

In haste he restores his posture and brushes a swift hand through his over-gelled hair- a futile attempt to conceal vulnerability. He strides forwards as his phone emits a high-pitched melody, syncing to the rhythmic pulse of his steps. Answering the phone, his pace quickens as his forehead is bisected by a crease between groomed eyebrows.

Three steps. Two steps. One step away. My calloused hand reaches out in submission.

“Sir? Anything will help”

I am met with a jarring silence.

He continues, engrossed within the voice barking through his telephone.

I heave my body towards him in desperation.

“Please” I cry as my voice longs for penetration within the heavy pockets he clung to so tightly.

He continued with little consciousness or care. His only gift being an odious smell of cologne that preceded him. That and the surrounding swarm of belittling glares. A culmination of raised eyebrows, perplexed faces, and a deafening silence that embodies the sterile society consumed by technology. Silence that enforced an eternal divide within the human race. A divide between those who speak, and those who ignore.

In the comparatively primitive year of 2017, I stood before a malleable crowd of colleagues. I was ignorant towards the tyrannical regime that technology began to impose upon even the most astute. I exuded confidence. I held a seminar on the tenacious T.S Elliot. “We whisper together. Are quiet and meaningless’’- final words before my ostracisation. My favourite quote. I was unaware of the uncanny resemblance these words would hold towards my future.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.