Silent Sky {boyxboy}

Chapter 1: Hushed Memories

Finally locating them, I plugged my house key into the lock and twisted to the left, just the right amount.

The door creaked as the rusted hinges slid together. I tumbled through the front door, now trying to escape the rain. It was coming down harder and faster. The winds became more vicious. The onslaught of water droplets attacking the forest grounds that surrounded my house tore through the flowers.

I slammed the door shut behind me causing an echo to vibrate throughout the large house.

I lived alone. Well I actually didn't live alone but it felt like it. My parents were never home. Ever since my brother died they threw themselves into work. I never see them but I'm fine with it because we never got along anyways. They never paid attention to me. Never cared.

Not even when I was four and decided it would be a good idea to try and climb a tree. I ended up falling out of it and breaking my arm.

My parents showed up at the hospital twice during the 3 weeks I was there. Once when I first arrived so they could drop me off and get everything set up. And the second time, on the last day I was there so they could pick me up and sign all my release forms.

Not even when I was five and.... And terrible things happened to me.

Now that they were always gone though, and Tristan, my best friend is in a coma, I always have the house to myself. It gets lonely a lot but I don't mind. I'm used to it and I actually quit prefer the silence.

You see, I've been mute ever since the age of 5. I wasn't born mute but because of traumatic experiences, I lost my ability to speak. Most people think I just chose not to speak because I was too scared. And it's true. I may try to act normal but ill never be normal again. My life will always be impacted and effected by those events. I'm terrified inside. Terrified that it'll all happen again.

Terrified... Terrified He'll come back.

Horrified He'll want me back.

Come for me again.

Take me away and assault me again.

Those months were the worst 6 months of my life. I was five... FIVE.

I was ABUSED.

I was TORTURED.

I was KICKED, PUNCHED.

I was SLAPPED, CUT.

I was RAPED.

I was MOLESTED.

I was CAGED.

I was HARASSED.

I was WORTHLESS.

I was WEAK.

I was PITIFUL.

I was DONE.

I was DEAD INSIDE.

I AM worthless, weak, pitiful, and done.

I AM dead inside.

This life I live is useless. It has no meaning. I don't want to be alive and either does anybody else. They don't care. I don't care. Why live if we're all going to die anyways? It's just a cycle. It means nothing. Absolutely nothing. It just causes hurt and pain. The pain of losing someone you love. When the truth is, if they were never alive in the first place, than they wouldn't have to die. You wouldn't have to feel that pain. That loss.

I lost my brother. I know how it feels. I lost my best friend. He's not dead but he might as well be. He cant talk. Can't move. He's useless. Just like me. Just like life.

Once I made my way upstairs, I trudged down the empty hallway. Nameless faces lined the walls. Pictures upon photos of strangers and memories. Useless. I don't know these people. They don't know me. We'll never know each other. It's useless. Just like everything else.

My bedroom was eerily plain. No posters or paint blanketed the walls. No trophies or nic nac's covered the desk. Clothes scattered the ground. That was about the only color in the entire room.

It was blank. Empty. Just like me.

It was quit depressing actually. But what could a boy do? I didn't own a tv or any gaming systems. It all seemed so trivial to me. Why waste your life away on stuff that has no meaning? I don't enjoy watching tv or playing video games so why would I wither away doing the stuff that I despise? I could just as easily live doing the stuff I am somewhat interested in before I die.

So I do just that. I sit in my room listening to music. I love to analyze their voices. Seeing as I don't have one of my own. I wonder what I would sound like. I used to talk. I used to be a happy, loving child. But the voice of a human being changes with youth. I wouldn't know what I could sound like now unless I were to actually speak. But I am mute, and it is inevitable.

I'm also quit talented in the art of sketching. It is one of the few ways I am to communicate with the world. Not that I do often. I like to believe that the saying 'A picture is worth a thousand words' is true. To me it is. Art is my voice. Sketches are my song.

As I lay myself onto my bed, the plain white sheets crumpling beneath me, I remember. All those days I was happy. There was quit few of them but they were there. It tires me to think that I was happy in the past. I could be happy now if my life had turned out differently. If I didn't catch the eye of a psycho as I was walking home from school at the age of five.

The memories just keep flowing. I try to put them out. Snuff them like a flame. Nothing seems to work though. Until finally, they seem to quiet. They slow down. Steady their pace. Give me time to think. To process. They hush. They slip away. Slowly at first. Getting faster and faster.

But I don't want them to leave! I'm not ready yet. They were too fast before but now they're leaving. Disappearing from my mind. They can't go though. If they leave ill go insane. They're all I have left. All my happiness, being burnt to a crisp. All my humanity, being flushed down the toilet. All my reason to believe, dissolving like acid. All my hope. My dreams. All gone.

I have nothing now.

It's all over.

If I can't remember a time I was happy. If I can't hope that in the future things might change. Then why would I continue living? What's the use of living if you can't embrace it? There isn't one.

The tears slowly start to pour down my face. I glance to my left, out the window. I gaze at the droplets of rain racing down my window. I see there freedom. Much like the tear flowing from my eyes. It's a release. Finally being able to let it all go.

I close my eyes. The mossy green of my irises being covered. I lay back farther. I cover myself with the light sheets. I concentrate. I try to remember again. Try to remember my childhood happiness. The laughter and voice of my youth. I can almost reach it, but it seems to flow through my fingers like grains of sand. Washed away by the waves of grief and sorrow. Of loneliness and hatred.

'Why? Why am I the way I am? Why me?'

It's all I can seem to ask myself in my head. Over and over again the question repeats itself. But I have no answer. No response to numb the emptiness I feel inside.

After what seems like hours I seem to start drifting. Sleep starts to take its hold. My mind is shutting off. The memories have stopped resurfacing. The tears have stopped flowing. Yet all I can think about before I succumb to sleep is:

"I have to survive the first day of school tomorrow... I'm going to die."

.......

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