Diapers

Diapers


The Global Silence


Dawn had weighed on the city with a sense of empty momentum. The air carried a smell of burnt wood and damp, a mixture that no longer resembled anything familiar; as if it had absorbed the very absence of people from the streets. The buildings, old and cracked at their corners, stood silent, as if waiting for someone to speak first; and no one did. The morning had no sound; there was no usual melody of cars or the rustle of people hurrying past; only the absolute, steady silence of a world that had forgotten how to communicate.


Katerina walked the city streets, her shoes barely clicking on the broken tiles, one step after another. She had not yet opened her little notebook; she knew that silence was not just the absence of a voice, but a heavy presence that had to be carefully recorded, as if she feared that the truth itself would evaporate if she did not take the time to record it.


He reached a square that had once been bustling with life, now empty, with the fountains closed and the benches covered with leaves. He sat down on one of them and opened his notebook. Words were rare, as was the news that was now arriving from the rest of the country. The world had been divided into small islands, cut off from each other, and communication had almost completely collapsed. Cell phones were useless; the internet, when it existed, was under constant surveillance and suddenly cut off, without any warning.


—Silence… —she murmured. Her voice sounded strange, foreign in a place where she was used to talking only to herself. She stood up and turned, seeing the building of an old cafe, its windows broken, but in a way that gave it dignity, even if no one would sit there to enjoy it.


He thought of Rahim , who seemed closer to the city every day with his armored vehicles, silent and watchful . His presence was like a shadow over everyday life, a reminder that the stability he promised brought with it fear and limitations. It wasn't just the lack of communications; it was the sense that humanity itself was limited by an invisible hand that imposed silence and order.


At the far end of the square, a child, about ten, held a torn toy; she looked at it for a moment and then turned away, frightened by her own presence. There were no parents, no adults to guide; the children were the first witnesses of a generation that learned silence before it learned words.


Katerina approached the child slowly, with her arms open, not to take or say anything, but simply to show that there was someone who understood. The child looked at her with eyes that had already seen more than age allowed; a sadness deep and impenetrable.


"Can you tell me your name?" Katerina asked softly.


The child hesitantly mumbled a name that sounded like a whisper.


—Look… —said Katerina, pulling a piece of paper from her backpack. —Can we draw together? A sign, a line, something that says you're here.


The child approached, and their fingers awkwardly drew first lines, then shapes, then the color began to flow in a way that seemed to revitalize the square. Slowly, the absence of sounds began to be reflected in the smile, the first in days.


As Katerina wrote and painted, memories began to come to her. She remembered the demonstrations she had witnessed years before; the voices that echoed in the night, the cries for justice and freedom. She remembered the violence that had brought loss; friends that had been lost, images that she would never forget. And now, in this silent city, the very act of creation seemed an act of resistance.


Her hand stopped on a line she had drawn; the absolute silence around her made the color seem more alive, as if it were breathing. It wasn't just art; it was a message, a bridge to reconnect people who had been cut off.


“I want to show everyone that they are not lost,” she murmured, more to herself than to the child. “That we can find ways to talk again.”


The child looked at her seriously, holding the painting as if it were a treasure. He didn't need to speak; understanding was enough.


A breeze swept through the square, bringing with it leaves, dusty papers, and what sounded like a distant whisper. Katerina heard the rustle and thought that perhaps the silence was not absolute; that even in silence, voices find a way to travel, even if by the slowest and most discreet means.


She raised her head and looked at the surrounding buildings. Stairs, balconies, broken windows; every corner seemed to hide a story, an absence, a voice waiting to be discovered. She thought of all the people she had seen pass before her eyes in recent years, the isolated houses, the half-disassembled communication networks, the sentences that remained half and unfulfilled.