I seem to have a problem with writing story, the latest effort on Masochuticon being an exemplar. The story of Not the faintest sound of any kind could be heard is this: a person walks around a bit, hears some things, and - being a bit unhappy - thinks 'what's the point?' Ie: nothing happens. (Don't think it qualifies as a spoiler if there's an absence of plot to be spoiled.) Obviously I'd like to claim that it's like JPod rewritten by a Robbe-Grillet-enamoured amateur -- except that it lacks JPod's snappy dialogue or the witty apercus, and those blank pure surfaces and the other good things in Alain Robbe-Grillet, so it's nothing like either. Writing is hard.
The title is a quote from Heart of Darkness, and there are a couple of other Conradisms in there too.