I would swear that I could practically hear crickets in the ensuing silence, if not for the fact that the stale air probably kills anything that requires oxygen to breathe.

The crickets sounded like maybe in the trees. They were pretty loud to be so unsure of themselves.

The universe dilated within him, above him. Something like joy stirred in Lancaster’s being, a sublime ecstasy born of terror. His heart felt as if it might burst, might leap from his chest. His cheeks...

I fuckin eat silence of crickets for fun. I got life afterlife and a name like Baby. Every time I try to cry a teara new kittenhead grows out of me.