text: Did you know that snow makes sound when it falls? Most people imagine snow as a silent event, a quiet whispering, but snow can actually be loud at times. It falls with a SPLAT against the ground, hitting the windows and leaving streaks as it drops along the pane. It's like a *pssmtpssmt* sound, the impact of it. She thought such things to herself throughout the day, her mind much more silent than the snow around her. She clunked her boots against the stone floor, knocking off the remnants of ice from a journey to the wood shed. Pulling her sweater around her neck, she lit the kindling and turned on the water to boil. Her movements were automatic, rehearsed, predictable. The motions were the same today as the day before and would be followed by the same tomorrow. For the most part, her mind was quiet. The silence filled the rooms with waiting, a haunting devoid of life and energy. With a cup of her homemade tea, she sat at the desk next to the stove, staring at the window before her. Another day, another page. She wrote the number at the top of the page, a long script in the right corner. 3652. A number for each day she wrote a page, for each day she had occupied this one room in the forest. Alone. She sat back for a moment, staring at the blank page. Ten years gone then, she thought. Ten years since she began this seclusion, bent on discovery. She had been a researcher then, a mind dedicated to the next big adventure. She had traveled the world with her companion, seeking the newness of life in other places. Her world was hailed as extraordinary, as revolutionary, as dangerous. People questioned her sanity in undergoing the events she had for the sake of publication. Then, just over 3652 days ago, she hit upon her biggest idea yet. A test of the human mind, a study of sanity and silence. What if a human were to be completely isolated from society, from the advances of the age, for a decade? What if they were to be silent that long? What if they did not see another human face, including their own? Her colleagues dismissed it, too radical, too risky. Who would agree to such a thing, to be the subject? She thought herself the perfect subject after all. No family, few friends, no lasting connection in the world. Who would miss her? To test the human brain, it was worth the price. What better test subject? So she disappeared. Off the grid, in the tiny cabin of some long lost relative's last testament. Packages of supplies left quarterly at the front gate but her one trusted companion. No face-to-face meeting though, no talking, otherwise the experiment would be moot. One page a day, to record thoughts, observations, curiosities. Someone would dissect them, interpret them, see the patterns of her brain change with time. She continued to stare at the page, it's blankness looking back at her. It bothered her. What should she write? Should she mention that it is time to return to the world? That she missed other beings, of hearing voices? That she's happy it's over? That she's not? She grunted under her breath, frustrated. Who the bloody hell cares?! Just have to write the honesty of it all, just have to think and write, just put the pen on the paper. 3652. She picked up the pen and began to write. *Today is the end of the testing. Subject is relieved (pause) and slightly nervous at the concept of returning to the world.* She nodded and set the pen down. There that should do it, good enough. She stretched and went to put on her coat. It would be a long walk to town in the snow. She grabbed the snowshoes hanging by the door, strapping on the leather, and the compass on the table. It took a few hours by the sun's time to reach the nearest town. To her it was an amiable walk. After all, she had been in these woods a decade now. She knew which animals lived where, at watched generations come and go with time. From the hill, she could see the small town below her, a mountain town not prone to visitors. Would she scare them, she wondered. After all, she had driven through there ten years ago. A couple more hours later, she found herself at the mouth of Main Street. Something was off. It was quiet. Silent. No cars were moving, they all remained parked. Strange vehicles she had never seen before lined the road. The store fronts were dusty, filmed over in sepia. The road was covered in snow, and had been for a while. She turned in circles, brows knitted with confusion. Where were the people? She kept walking. Nothing. There was no sign of struggle, no broken glass, no trash. She walked quickly to a newspaper stand, searching for a date, a period of time that something could have happened in. Nothing, not a single paper. No date. No sound. Nothing. She kept walking, toward the town square, the center of it all. Still nothing. She turned the corner, the large white courthouse looming in a snowy shroud. The cloudy sky continued to let the flakes fall.*pssmtpssmtpssmt* As she got closer to the steps of the building, a shape. A man. He stands. She freezes mid step, eyes widening, breath ceasing. He smiles broadly. "Hello Amelia," he says, evenly. Her eyes bulge and she hears a sound, from far away. Her own voice. It's screaming.