It is the year 2092, 600 years after Columbus accidentally landed on what is now South American soil. Mankind has come a long way since those days of discovering new lands. the silence and natural harmony of our past has gone and been replaced with electric machines that can do things for us that we have never even tried to do for ourselves.

These machines store our memories, remind us to do things and do other things for us. They are not silent as they go about their work, beeping, bopping and booping as their processors whir and chirp their merry tunes. The sound is deafening but has become a part of our everyday lives.

Men who do not participate in their monthly silent treatment go mad as if their minds cannot stand the sound of living any longer. Some who have only missed a treatment or two can be saved. They undergo intensive in-patient silent treatments and are able to rejoin society. Some lose parts of their memories or entire sections.

Those however who let it go on for much too long are lost to us and must be silenced permanently. Those are very sad but necessary procedures. The part of their brain that allows them to process sound is removed. It’s difficult, and most patients do not survive the procedure. Those who do must live apart from others and be retrained to be a part of society again. They forget everything. They could be 60 years old and suddenly they don’t remember a thing and have to start all over.

Sometimes this is too sad and the Doctor gives them mercy.

Image by: ttronslien
(http://mrg.bz/ZY9ebl)

Michael took a step forward, his foot  landing on squishy ground. He could feel heat permeating through his shoe, getting hotter the longer his foot stayed in the same spot.

Not sure if he should move or stay put Michael watched the ground around his feet begin to shake gently before soil became displaced and tiny green shoots burst forth. Looking like stalks of grass with arms, the shoots began to pollulate all around where his feet rested on the mushy surface.

“What the…” he muttered and bent down to examine the new life.

He looked closely, bending his knees so he could get close to the plants without touching them with his skin.

His breath ruffled the stalks and the tiny arms began to move and wave. The arms slowly grew longer, stretching higher and causing Michael to lean back to avoid the arms from touching his face.

The arms of the plants become long and began to wrap around Michael’s shoes. He gently tried to lift his shoe but found it stuck fast to the ground. His heart began to beat faster. Neither of his feet could be budged.

Reaching for his belt knife, Michael removed it from it’s case and bent down once more. The plant arms had completely covered his shoe by this time and as he applied his blade to the arms, the forest was filled with screams unlike any he’d heard before.

Image by: BessaAlmeida (http://mrg.bz/X2JPNo)

Walking softly, Issa crouched low and pulled the dagger from her sleeve. The lights ahead were bright and the door to the tavern was open. The city was silent and the hair on the back of her neck stood at the the eerie thought of a silent tavern. Continuing on, she approached the courtyard and stopped. Scanning the distance between her and the open doorway, Issa drew in her breath and waited.

Flashing lights in the growing darkness let Detective Inspector Robinson know where he needed to go. No less than five police cars surrounded the path head that lead down the hillside into the valley. Showing his identification to the officer on duty, he moved quickly past the trail head and began his descent.

At the bottom, where a small clearing began to widen out from the path, a team was investigating the scene. Tall trees lined the trail on either side as he made his way to the clearing. Yellow caution tape surrounded a tent off to the side of the clearing, almost inside the tree line. Robinson headed in that direction, nodding to a few officers he recognized as he passed. Removing his hat and putting it under his arm, he pushed the heavy tent flaps aside and entered. Right away, he saw Detective Inspector Warren speaking to the Coroner. Robinson moved further inside the tent, catching Warren’s eye who motioned her head toward the body on the ground.

The victim was a young man, perhaps in his mid twenties. His dark hair was matted with blood. His eyes were open and staring but his face was at peace.

“What a terrible accident.” Robinson crouched near the victim, lifting the young man’s lapel with the tip of his pen to inspect the wounds. Blood was thick on his flannel shirt, clotting already, though he had overheard the Coroner’s initial estimate putting the time of death at just under 5 hours ago.

Detective Inspector Warren crouched down next to him, gloves covering her pale hands as she held the jacket open. Her eyes were shining with excitement. Despite her morbid fascination with death, and perhaps because of it, she was the best homicide detective there was. She viewed the body silently, her mouth moving slightly as she worked herself through the scene and the final moments on this man’s life.

Finally, looking up at Robinson, she smiled a grim smile. Her pink lips lay on top of each other in thin, straight lines. Her pale skin shone in the waning light and tendrils of her strawberry blond hair framed her face lightly freckled face. Blue eyes examined his face as they always did as if filing away his expression for future reference.

“It was no accident, it was deliberate. The strong slashes. Downward, as if the victim was already on the ground when the attacker struck. Vicious, downward strokes, over and over again. 17 times he was stabbed.”

As she spoke, she moved blood soaked cloth aside so Robinson could see the slashes, deep wounds that began with a large slit at the top and became thinner as they moved downward, indicating the killer was already removing the blade for another stroke as the blade sank into the man’s flesh.

The inspectors were silent as they imagined the man’s last moments.

“Surprisingly,” Warren spoke again, startling Robinson from his reverie, “there are no self defense wounds on his hands or arms. Perhaps he was already out cold when the killer began her attack.”

“Her?”

Warren blinked up at him. “Yes, the killer was a women.”

“How do you know that?”

She grinned and turned her attention back to the body.