Rain Through the Looking Glass

Slippery shoes against the marble as we sit on the long wooden benches, looking about us as if we have just been born. Our whispers echo off the cavernous walls. We sense we are intruders on this glorious abyss and our voices instinctually taper off. A silence spreads itself over us, muting our thoughts, our heartbeats, our mindless fidgeting, if only for a moment, but in that moment time stands still. We listen, there is nothing. We strain our ears, searching for something we can use to prove to ourselves that it hasn't all stopped. It comes to us from a great distance, almost inaudible, dampened by the sheer volume of the silence.

A sound like no other, a sound we would know anywhere. The sound
of rain.

The drops, they hit the rough surface of the stained glass, reflecting prisms of color through the silence. That which is so deep we'd have to wade through it. The faint echo of the rain slowly fades away, till we are left with a true absence of sound. And we sit and listen to that absence.