Silent Cacophony

Silence.

It's deafening.

A crowd of ponies, trotting discordantly, with no rhyme or rhythm, yet not a peep of whisper nor a clop of hoof.

The only noise heard is the buzz of tinnitus, for those who suffer from it. The birds don't chirp in what little numbers they fly in, scared into deathly quiet by the grey, sprawling cityscape, whose name is not spoken and never heard. No one speaks, anyway.

How the wind doth not protest, nobody knows. Not that they ask that, obviously. The roaring cacophony of utter nothing lays like a depressive atmosphere, it’s almost hard to breath, but everyone is used to it. They’re comfortable in their oblivious bliss.

A scuff of a fetlock on a concrete wall, a single muted, wholly reserved noise, only heard on the plain backdrop of pure soundlessness. A few ponies risk an irritated glance, simply a discourteous look at the oh-so-boisterous equine. The offender stands like a statue of lead, a prerequisite of his already accepted fate. Two guards inaudibly canter to the stallion, and escort him away from the scene, with no fuss nor fight, not even a choice word. Utter chilling silence pursues everyone henceforth.

A minute passes before a lone raindrop falls from the perpetual grey of the overcast meteorological phenomena, splatting ever so softly on the lukewarm pavement. The closest pony reels in a quaint fashion, before swiftly yet reticently vacating the area in favour of the nearest doorway. This trend catches taciturnly, and within the minute the streets are ghostly, and the rain drop’s companions soon greet the ground also. With the introduction of noise, paradoxically, the streets suddenly become exponentially quieter in the greying city.

~~~

A dash of pink in the colourless city is a sight to see, if only for a picosecond. The blur seems to defy physics, yet possible in the realm of quantum, which it so advantageously abuses. One minute seen, the next, extinct.

The rain persists.

The blur stills. Glancing around, she lets herself be known to the physical plane. She stands as tall as the rest, if not taller. The slumping nature of the city’s populace makes them seem quite depressed, even though they find comfort in the oppression of a realm without music. The mare is bright pink, a painful prick to the retina, like the morning sun to awaking eyes, a sight this land’s never seen. Her straightened mane never seems natural, regardless of the angle of view, her stoic expression could be fittingly swapped with a smile. She’s not native to city; not of this world, it would seem.

The world outside the walls is different.

Trapped in the endless roar of the equally endless urban sprawl, the mare isn’t looking for an escape; in fact, she went through the effort of getting in. She either enjoys the silence too much, or so little that she plans to take action. Does she realise futility?

She trots down an alley, not even slightly moist from the persistent downpour, before ducking swiftly into a crevice of a concrete slab. Her rat’s hole sweet rat’s hole. Inside, it achieves a piece of peace, with many a thing to create the warmth of sound and a slice of home. Pots and pans litter the floor, eggshells simply dropped on the ground to add to the musical progression, a… A toothless alligator with a kazoo. Fitting.

This pony’s style never ceased to amaze back home, wherever that may be. The pink horse's methodology shan't be brought into question, lest brains turn liquid and ooze from snout. The name of the game is irrationality to achieve overall rationality; however much she may confuse her companions or bring them under mental duress, illogic incarnate finishes the job.

Blinding Pink approaches the reptile without precaution, and pets his scales, causing an asymmetrical blink in return. As she turns away to sigh discontentedly, the croc sneakily swallows the noise producing object, a snack fit for a king, or reptilian equivalent.

"This city is a real party-pooper, Gummy," the first spoken words in a virtual eternity, "Just when I think it can't get any worse, I almost get myself caught, and an innocent pony takes the blame. Humph!"

A blink in response.

"I have to feel bad, Gummy," She translates, "I can't not not not feel terrible!"

Blink.

"Yeah, we'll leave in a week," She agrees, "I gotta go through with the plan first, then it's up to them to decide if they want to change."

Blink.

"Pinkie hates the quiet," Pinkie remarks.

She trots to the makeshift kitchen, the ambient noise caused by her own noise generating mess causing frizz to become noticeable in her mane, slowly looking more natural, fitting to her unique persona. Once the sugar, eggs and flour start to mix, her mane becomes tangled as per normal, and within the minute, the smells of baking waft through the cramped den. Alligator lips are licked.

She did, of course, bring an oven with her. If a friend were present to view the process of moving in, they would ask many a question in vain, such as, "Pinkie, what is a 'TV', why do you need it and how did you even get it in here?"

~~~

As the mood warms up inside the cozy retreat, the mood above ground rapidly cools, as the sun begins to drop in the sky, noticeable even through the thick overcast. How utter silence can quieten further is beyond comprehension, but the harsh, sterile city always finds a way to depress pure sadness even deeper.

As night falls, the faintest scuffling begins to be heard, not even echoing on the tall buildings oppressing the streets. Two sets of hoofs frantically sprint to the city limits, in attempt to reach the encapsulating walls. With their goal achieved, they begin to hover over the wall in a fluid fashion. No hint of noise.

~~~

The silence greets the blackness with open arms, a match made in heaven. The city is blanketed in nothingness, the buzz of tinnitus continues.

It's deafening, silence.