Funky Short stories

Ominous

This is so edgy i'm sorry lol 

But there are no trigger warnings

the silence is killing me. many others would say im over exaggerating but i beg to differ. being raised in an extremely sound filled environment has made me almost, how should i say this, "allergic" to silence. i can not live without the constant background noise of civilisation, it could be the town, the city or even a farm (one with animals though). yet here i am, in a noiseless environment. i feel like im dying. like im suffocating. im in an empty room, its barren, cold walls, begging to be adorned with luxurious accessories of paintings, lights and tapestries, the bland wooded floors just itching to be coated in the warmest and cosiest of rugs or a velvet arm chair, or two.

this place is my new home. or that what its supposed to be, i guess ive been here for at least 6 hours now, just staring at this plain, off-white ceiling. just staring, maybe the occasional thought or two but other than that, just staring. as miserable and melancholy as this sounds, this place i moved into is quite nice, other than the obvious silence, clearly evident from my semi-poetic rant earlier. when i finish moving in furniture and customising this place, i hope it will start to feel more like an actual home instead of a barren jail cell. i dont know why its so quiet, its as if something or someone even, managed to stop time in its, seemingly adamant quest to move forwards. whatever this entity is, i dont trust it. however, ill have you know that i dont usually believe in all this superstitious, ghostly nonsense. in fact i think its pathetic really. now dont come and attack me, relax, im not here to start a fight. im just really confused, as to why an apartment in the middle of a practically never ending city is so quite and why it sounds basically abandoned. i feel disgustingly ill thinking about this. i dont think ive felt this ill in a long time.
*a few weeks later*
i honestly cant stand this place. despite finally installing furniture and embellishments into this apartment, i still feel an eerily ominous presence everywhere i go. the other day i tripped on a rug and fell over, of course i screamed bloody murder or thats what i thought. because i went over to my neighbour to apologise for the sudden ruckus, but when they answered my regretful knocks, they dismissed my desperate apology and just chuckled they soon, after composing themselves and hastily apologising for the uncalled outburst, they reassured me, saying,
"hahaha, no need to apologise, i heard nothing. if anything i heard my kettle but thats it. dont worry yourself to much, you'll have a heart attack by the time you pay rent!"
"you didnt hear me scream? i swear i definitely shrieked at least. are you sure? i mean its no trouble for me to keep it down a bit, i just dont want to bother you to much.", i vented at record speed. now that i look back, i sure did overreact. after exchanging numbers (for further disruptions or queeries of course im not that type of person) i ventured the 5 metres back to my deep, moss green door. that of which i painted myself (i am quite fond of that colour).
*next two weeks*
last week i received a mysterious package. a particularly broad statement i know. stay with me now, despite the ominousness, i feel as if this mystery package has to mean something. how creative i know.

A/N: should I continue this? Also, I hope the bad grammar and punctuation isnt that bothering, I just did it to give the story a somewhat "spoopy" feel.