Nothing but Nothing

The birds were chirping a tune of sorrow just a moment before they flapped their wings and flew away. The grim slowly captured the whole atmosphere of that meadow. No bright light, even though the sun stroke at its maximum force. Empty and cold, unlike the usual warmth emanated from the ball of flare. Even the dark clouds themselves seemed to be brighter compared to the grimace floating in the air.

Everything was still, captured in the freezing frame of dark cold breeze. A small silent whistle which was surprisingly able to seize the dominance from the fierce blow of the north wind. It penetrated every single marrow of the living beings around the meadow. As if pressing the stop button to make them muted and still. Not even the green leaves hanging at the big tree dared to move an inch. That whistle safely passed the flock of the leaves without making them rustled.
Shadow crawled from its nest, disguised as the indistinguishable cold bite. Not dark nor black, not grand nor big. Just a small piece of it, but taking over the throne of the ray. It donned the mantle of nothing, arising the hole above every being. Softer than the fierce black hole made by the exploding old star, but wilder than a mere sand trap. Hiding beneath the fake tranquility, it expanded the power through the air.

The exile, as people said. The land of isolation, the barren land of sorrow, filled with silent lament and dried cry. The absence of the sound made things as plain as the night. Unbroken silence absorbs every emotion. No tears, no laughter, no anger, not even peace. Its mute captured everything, engulfed things within the layer of nothingness. Nothing but nothing.