{"id":11632,"date":"2020-07-26T21:59:52","date_gmt":"2020-07-26T20:59:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11632"},"modified":"2020-07-30T15:09:59","modified_gmt":"2020-07-30T14:09:59","slug":"the-quiet-in-the-storm-by-caitlin-bones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11632","title":{"rendered":"The Quiet in the Storm<\/em> by Caitlin Bones"},"content":{"rendered":"

Year 9 Urmston<\/strong><\/p>\n

The world has always been deafening.<\/span><\/p>\n

As the world spluttered to life, I\u2019d awaken to the sound of my relentless alarm screaming, forcefully reminding me that I couldn\u2019t live, wrapped up, in the arms of my peaceful dreams forever. With a flick of a switch, I\u2019d silence the screaming and collapse back into bed, glad that I was engulfed in my comfort blanket of silence once again. However, on cue, warnings of the time would float up the stairs, progressively more frantic as each minute passed until I couldn\u2019t ignore them anymore – my second alarm clock in human form forced me to face the noise. <\/span><\/p>\n

The hum of cars polluted the air; an inescapable reminder that we’re choking the Earth. Fuelled by caffeine, insufferable radio hosts bickered and eventually, I\u2019d turn them off so that I could concentrate on searching in futility for my physics folder. Teetering trees would greet you as you stumbled out of the car whispering their secrets into the wind on a good day or furiously howling their opinions on others. My ears rang with the constant clanking of lockers (the magic lockers that could affect the mood of the day depending on how easily they opened), until the shrill bell at 3:20 secured my escape. <\/span><\/p>\n

Then, all of a sudden, my whirlwind of noise was smothered by the real storm: the coronaviruses wrath. <\/span><\/p>\n

Slowly, I adjust to the world; rub my eyes and turn to see my alarm clock with a tired look sprawled across its face – aware he\u2019s become obsolete. The staircase stays silent, without even a creek in protest of how late in the morning it is to be getting up. Although the afternoon is looming, cars lie asleep in their garages, the radio sits silently in the corner as we decide to mute the news of our eternal doom and the trees outside don\u2019t have anyone to talk to because two metres seems like worlds away. <\/span><\/p>\n

As I inspect which mix-match of pyjamas constructs my new uniform this morning, I realise I, no longer, have to listen or swim through the crashing waves of the sea of navy-blue blazers. My milk cascades into my cereal and I grasp that I can\u2019t hear classmate’s gushing ideas about how to navigate their treacherous journey to the canteen on chip day in the fastest time, carefully avoiding teachers who would make them stop running. I wash my bowl and my phone illuminates with messages from friends, the sound of stifled giggling that would erupt into outrageous laughter, followed by snorts that triggered the rest of us to shriek maniacally in chorus, is replaced with a laughing face emoji. Still half asleep, I make my way to the living room where I resume my usual, sunken spot on the sofa, when the TV flickers to life and for the first time in forever, instead of my Dad and I arguing about what channel to watch, we\u2019re stunned to silence, listening to the virus of lies and excuses seeping from politicians\u2019 mouths; after a few perpetual minutes, it all becomes white noise. Click to a different station and grow accustomed with the low, dull, morbid tones of newsreaders and forget the voices that comforted me, helped me and made me smile; flip to another and let out a quiet sigh that I know more about TV personality’s lives (that lack any personality) than my friends I\u2019ve known for years. <\/span><\/p>\n

Another day of muted microphones in online classes continues – full of suppressed opinions, assessments are written assisted by ceaseless Wikipedia entries instead of our enthusiastic teacher’s words of encouragement and we create speeches that were meant to be read from the heart that now only exist as words of black ink staring blankly. <\/span><\/p>\n

Eventually, the dark ink spills into the sky and another day comes to a close. Languidly, I trudge up the staircase that has replaced the matrix of corridors and sink into my bed. I find myself staring at my obsolete alarm clock that ticks even slower than the one in detention and decide to set it to wake me up in the morning \u2013 not because I need to get up early but because silence has never been more deafening. <\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Year 9 Urmston The world has always been deafening. As the world spluttered to life, I\u2019d awaken to the sound of my relentless alarm screaming, forcefully reminding me that I couldn\u2019t live, wrapped up, in the arms of my peaceful dreams forever. With a flick of a switch, I\u2019d silence the screaming and collapse back […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":45,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[400],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Quiet in the Storm by Caitlin Bones - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11632\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Quiet in the Storm by Caitlin Bones - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Year 9 Urmston The world has always been deafening. 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