The Static Between Teeth

Part of the Rust and Silence series

Artwork by : Shain Parwiz

They press in close.
A warm, sticky weight of bodies. Voices layered thick, impossible to separate, just a low, constant hum.
But the air between us?
It’s not shared.
It’s heavy. Sour. Coats the tongue. Crawls under the skin.

Or maybe I do know the name for it.
See it in the flicker of their eyes.
When they lean in too easy.
When they ask questions that sound casual but snag.

Not connection.
Never connection.
Something sharper.
Teeth, hidden under smiles, waiting. Patient.
To latch on.
To suck whatever's left humming in my bones.

They drain it out.
Until muscles feel like frayed rope.
Until there’s nothing but dust.
Nothing but a hollow echo where a person should be.

This is the loneliest place I know.
Right here.
Right in the middle of all this noise.
Their too-loud laughter. Their casual touches. Their greedy eyes.

A void blooms inside me, wide and dark as a desert night.
While their voices wash over, meaningless as static.

I watch them.
Track the tilt of heads, the twitch of a hand on an arm, too firm.
Every glance is a hook.
Every word a slow bleed.

The paranoia isn’t paranoia anymore.
It’s stitched into my skin.

Every second, another piece of me chipped off in some silent transaction I never agreed to.

So I mimic.
It's not even a choice anymore.
Laugh when they laugh. Nod when they nod.
Move my weight from foot to foot like I’m grounded. Like I belong.

It’s an act.
A broken, frantic scramble to keep the illusion alive.

Dancing to a song playing three rooms away.
Muffled. Off-beat.
My limbs jerking to a rhythm that isn’t mine.

Always a step behind.
Always the wrong song.

The reflection in the glass?
A stranger.
Vacant-eyed. Grey-skinned.
But somehow more real than whatever’s standing here pretending to be alive.

Sometimes the ache is physical.
Sharp enough to steal the breath clean out of me.

To tear it off,
this skin that doesn’t fit,
this smile that cracks if you look too close,
this body that’s just camouflage.

Wonder if the pain stops when you rip it all away.
Or if it's already too late.
If the teeth have sunk too deep.
If they’ve hollowed out everything already.

Maybe I'm not even prey anymore.
Not even a person.
Just static.
Just the ghost of a hum, buzzing between the sharp teeth of a crowd that never even knew I was there.

Author’s Note :

This one isn’t about grief.
It’s about what comes after.
The mimicry. The burn.
The way you vanish in the middle of a crowd and no one blinks.
-Shain

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