I screamed.

I screamed out eighteen months of weariness from endless touring. I screamed out the anguish and grief of losses that ate at my soul day after day. For sixteen long seconds, I screamed as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Then it ended. My lungs were out of air; the song ended. I stopped screaming. My bandmates stopped playing. The SoulScars 2023 tour was over.

For a second, maybe even just a millisecond, there was silence. No drums, no guitar, no screaming or singing. I froze. Time froze. Bliss threatened to engulf me. Then the crowd exploded to life, roaring their appreciation for the final show of our tour. My concert energy returned. I seized a mic and raised a hand in the sign of the horns.

“Thank you,” I roared, voice hoarse, “You are the best fucking bunch of fans! It has been great sharing this night with you! Thank you. Thank you.”

I was in tears as I stepped back to take a bow with the band.

We drove the tour bus to another city that night. Flights home were booked for the next morning. I slumped in a back corner with earplugs in. Eyes closed, I tried to get back to that silence, to live in it. The babble of voices and other noise intruded, though.

“Hey, Steff?” said a voice, barely audible through the plugs.

I sat up and pulled them out. It was Jax, guitar player and nominal leader of the band. We had a bit of a thing early on but were just friends now.

“What?”

“Adrian called,” Jax told me, “There’s an opening for a supporting act on the Mad Gods of Metal 2023 tour. Starts in two weeks.”

I groaned. Adrian was our manager. The man seemed determined to run us into the ground.

“No. I’m done. This tour is over,” I told Jax without hesitation.

“It’s a big opport…”

“What part of ‘No’ don’t you get, Jax?” I snapped, raising a middle finger, “I am fucking done like dinner, okay? I am exhausted from eighteen months on the road. I am grieving my mother, whose funeral I missed. I am grieving my marriage, which melted down because I was never there. I am just so fucking done. I need at least six months off, probably a year. If you and that asshole manager you love so much want more touring, look for a new vocalist.”

The guitarist looked stunned at my explosion. He nodded and headed back to his seat. Other band members watched with concern on their faces. I slipped my earplugs back in and went in search of silence.

Months later, I sat up in bed on a chilly winter morning with those memories dancing in my mind. The band was, as I wanted, on hiatus. Adrian was not happy but I didn’t care. With money saved from my share of merch and album sales, I bought a cabin by a lake and went into hiding.

The place was not perfectly silent, but the noise I wanted to escape was gone. There was no rock music, bus engines, roaring crowds, or partying bandmates. I just had the sounds of nature around me; birds, wind, and waves. And now, in the season of snow, silence did happen.

It was not, however, the blissful silence I expected after that moment at the end of the concert. This was just emptiness, a void wanting to be filled. For a time, I embraced that emptiness, but now it was becoming a source of irritation. The silence was too loud, if that makes sense.

I rose and opened the curtains, staring out at the snowbound world around me. The lake was an unbroken field of white snow over ice. That white was itself a kind of silence. Suddenly, I wanted noise. I wanted roaring crowds and Jax’s guitar. I wanted to scream away the silence.

Pulling out jeans, a band t-shirt, and my leather jacket, I dressed. I picked up my phone and found the backing and demo tracks I kept there for rehearsing. For a moment, I stared at the list. Then I popped in my earbuds and went out on to the cabin’s porch. I punched up a favourite song from our last album.

The drumbeats began, then bass and guitars. My body caught the beat and moved almost instinctively. I banged my head and pumped a fist in the air. Then it was my time. I let loose with the greatest scream I could muster. The song echoed through the white world, tearing down the silence as I screamed and belted at maximum volume. I ended on a piercing wail. Silence fell.

I paused to let that silence sink in. This was the silence from the end of that concert; an instant of utter peace. Then I knew. That moment happened because of the roar of music before it. Silence was absence, not presence. The absence of sound meant nothing without sound.

I chose another song, one with more singing than screaming. Once more, my voice filled the void of white silence. When I was not singing, the thunder of the rhythm section and Jax’s howling guitar filled my ears.

The song ended. Silence came in a rush. This time, I felt the bliss. Overcome, I sank to my knees in the snow, living in that silence.

Jax looked surprised when he opened his door.

“You’re back?” he asked.

“And ready to rock, baby.”

Jax sighed.

“We’re auditioning singers, Steff. Adrian insisted. He wants to move on without you.”

I snorted.

“I heard,” I told him, voice unamused, “I am not auditioning for a band I helped start. Do you want me or not?”

The guitarist chuckled, then grinned. There was joy in his face. I felt relieved.

“Adrian can go fuck himself,” Jax growled, “The guys will be glad to see you. What happened to change your mind?”

“The silence got too loud, Jax.”