“Not even close,” she whispered. Then she closed her eyes, thought of every minor inconvenience she’d ever suffered, and let out the triple-crescendo:
The annual "Golden Conch" decibel competition was the Super Bowl of the absurd. Two rivals stood atop the foam-padded arena, facing off for the championship title. On the left: , a burly man with a handlebar mustache and lungs like bellows. On the right: Lil’ Squall , a tiny, unassuming woman in oversized overalls who had never lost a single match. Rivals WAAA WAAAAA
The crowd gasped. Magnus the Magnificent, the five-time champion, was crying. Big, fat, silent tears rolled down his cheeks. His mustache drooped. “Not even close,” she whispered
It wasn’t just loud. It was haunting . It sounded like a lost puppy, a canceled birthday party, and a dropped ice cream cone all at once. On the left: , a burly man with
Magnus blew his nose loudly. “I… I don’t understand. How is sadness louder than fury?”
