The windows rattled their typical ominous warning as the hollow wind blew through their outer shutters. He would sleep little tonight, he realized, as he clicked the deadbolt to the front door. Once upon a time, stormy weather soothed his worries and carried him to rest. Today, the howling of the wind and the rustling of the leaves, the cracks and booms and flashes and roars--all of it would wash away in the symphony of silence that would soon fill his nights. At first, it would be tolerable. Strange, but soothing; unsettling, yet somehow inviting. The first night would almost feel like a relief, after the day that preceded it. After years of dedicated practice, he hadn't gotten any better at breaking a heart. Still, he ripped the tape, as clean a cut as he could manage, and retired home with few regrets. He cooked dinner, and he ate half, and as he polished his space--careful to remove any evidence that a living person actually, really used it--he listened to the buzz of the world surrounding him. Even this far out of town, he could hear the busy Friday night turning its noisy, ancient wheels, desperate to keep its grinding gears in motion for fear of them rusting still. The Hum, he called it. The Hum of life; the hum of humanity. The hum never particularly bothered him--it's difficult to find annoyance in something so constant you barely notice. That's the funny thing about the hum, and about so much else: you only really notice when it's gone. It's why, on this first night, he thought his eardrums might burst. The initial moment of silence was, admittedly, unbearable--after the groaning, guttural roar of a night starving to burn forever was stealthily snuffed, leaving nothing in its place, as if everything had just... stopped. But everything had not stopped. In fact, nothing had. The fridge continued cooling, the air continued conditioning, and the old stone cogs of the Friday night lights continued to turn--in absolute silence. On Friday, June the 4th, at 11:03 p.m., the hum of life went completely quiet. ***