Silent. The forest is silent. The trees ache under the quiet bending and warping under the unbearable weight of this absence of noise. No creatures are scuttering underfoot, and no branches shake in the wind, right now, the world hangs in an unending, echoey quiet. It's a silence you will only experience once in your life, where everything vanishes away, fading into the quiet. And you are left.
Alone.
So alone.
And then the silence starts to eat at you, gnawing through your flesh, your bones all of you. Until even you have vanished, slinking into the silence. But you are still there. You can feel it-feel you, still there. Hanging by a single thread some final essence of you remains, some tiny invisible part of you is still present.
And there is calm.
The calm will be broken. You know it will be broken, that it will fall and crash, this precious moment. And it does, like a vase hung by a single spider web, breaking into a million pieces and a cloud of dust as it all crumbles down. A tree lies at your feet, branches scattered in pieces, a cloud of dust rising from under it, swelling toward the sky. The silence is gone.
Creatures scutter underfoot, a wind rises in the distance, pushing trees out of its way a rattling noise left in its place as it passes by. The world has not returned. It has not reappeared with the silence's end. It had never left.