Excerpt from Chalmers Comes Back
These sensations were after all occasional, episodic, precarious. They were like the spent waves of a dis tant storm; they rolled up the shore of consciousness, swiftly withdrew, and all was quiet again. An im mense quiet, as if a clock that he had heard all his life had suddenly ceased to tick. A quiet so profound that one could hear the blood run in one's veins, and one's pulses beat. And he had grown to like it. He thought he knew now what poets meant when they talked of hearing the silence. He was terrified lest he should lose it. If the clock started ticking again he would want to scream, like a frightened child. He was afraid, too, of any kind of movement. If he turned in his bed it was by infinitesimal stages. If he lifted his hand, it was with the same excess of caution. As for speaking, it was many weeks since he had tried to speak. He had lost the desire to speak and, it would seem, the faculty.
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