Far from Home

 It is 7:54 P.M, and I, alone in my room, my feet above the desk, laptop on my lap. Staring at the window, listening to sounds of cars, sounds of horns and barks. The stray dog barks at the pet for he is jealous of his royalty, while the pet barks back for he longs for the stray's freedom. And here I lay, staring at my window that I closed in fear of the flies entering my room, thinking about tomorrow while letting today go. 

There is a noise outside, quite hard to describe, but similar to the one Schopenhauer warned about. The floor is silent, the only sound that it makes comes from the closing of the lift that is all across the hallway. The only sound that curses my ears come from outside, and all I can think is how right Schopenhauer was about noise. Yet, it is also the silence that disturbs me. How frightening would it be if all I could hear was the 'clickety clack' of my own keyboard, Perhaps noise isn't so bad after all.