The End

an//i cant get the dedications to work but im dedicating it to my homie Allie (@browneyesdreaming) thank you for helping me end the story and for your support:)

For as long as I can remember, all I've ever known was silence. Not that I couldn't hear, but that no one around me ever made a sound.

    I grew up in a quiet city, quiet neighborhood, quiet household. Everyone was friends with everyone, and discrimination was a thing of the past. Equality was key, and that much was evident. Houses, yards, furniture, clothing, everything was identical. Dull, but, of course, pristine. No one's family was more privileged over another. Nothing was out of place, and no one got out of line.

    The price for perfection and unity was silence.

    I've been told, that in order to maintain happiness, you must stay independent. Conflict can only be avoided by indifference and endurance. In order to stay human, you must preserve and cherish positive feelings only. At the same time, you must remember that you, and the people around you, are still human. If anger accidentally escapes, ignore it. Confronting it leads to conflict, conflict leads to unhappiness.

5:00PM:

    My dad was not home. Unusual for a punctual person like him. He, like everyone else in my neighborhood, always came home at five o'clock.

On my mother's orders, I went out to see if he was still at the office.

It had been a while since I was last allowed outside the house. I admired the sparkling grey pavement and soft green grass; the bushes, trimmed to perfection, luscious and identical. The sky, I observed, looked more vibrant outside than it did when I viewed it from my window. Breathing in, the air was crisp and cool. Refreshing.

Rounding the corner I heard a stifled yelp. I looked to my right and saw our new neighbors; a newlywed couple. One was large, red in the face, and cradling their hand, while the other was sitting on the grass, holding their cheek. Small droplets of water were streaming down both of their faces. I had never seen this before, the sight was unreal. I caught myself staring, however, too late, and watched as the one who had been cradling their hand, pulled the other inside.

How beautiful, I thought, and at the same time, how peculiar.

I stayed lost in thought, pondering what I had seen, and before I knew it, I arrived at my father's office. Many others were there. All the workers had been held back.

Waiting in the lobby, I was eager to tell him about what I had just witnessed. It was the most breathtaking sight I had ever seen. I wanted to see it again. However, when my father came to the lobby, the eagerness vanished. I decided to keep this to myself. It was my sight to cherish.

After that, my father was continuously held back at work. It became routine that every day at five o'clock, I would leave to pick him up, hopes of seeing the neighbors out again always present in my mind.

After two weeks, I told my parents; the eagerness returned I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. Though they appeared concerned, they informed me that the neighbors were crying, tears of joy and that it was good. I shouldn't worry. Their vague responses to my questions led me to ask more questions, all of which, my parents avoided.They refused to go in depth. Nonetheless, learning about this new sight made me crave to see it even more. I waited impatiently for the day to pass.

The following day, I asked my parents, again, about what I'd witnessed. They told me they didn't know what I was talking about. Though puzzled, I happily explained the scene to them again.

"I do not know what you are talking about, sweetie," my mom said, pinning a smile on her face.

"What an active imagination, I bet you get it from those books you are always reading. This is why you need to regulate her books, honey, English is not even that important," my dad murmured. My mom was also my teacher. Everyone was home-schooled. Over the years, many found it led to fewer confrontations. Public schools were abandoned.

That was the last my parents and I talked about it. They made it clear that this was not a welcomed subject. Still, I begged to go outside many times that day, to no avail, and, reluctantly, I dropped it.

4:00AM

I stared at my smooth white ceiling and watched the fan spin. My family was asleep. It was very late, and staying up past curfew was looked down upon. It was my desire filled thoughts that kept me awake.

Finally, I couldn't stand it. I put my shoes on and slipped out the front door.

The street was dark, and I relied on my memory to take me to the correct house. My brain was alert, my heart was pounding. Was this excitement?

When I finally arrived at the house, my nerves were on edge. I saw a dim light coming from the back and quickly went to investigate.

Peeking through a slight crack in the window curtains, I was greeted with lots and lots of red. The spotless white couch, once identical to everyone else's, was covered in dark red stains. The walls and carpet showed different shades, all were bewitching. I couldn't look away. The spell was broken with a loud, melodic scream and something hitting the window. I let out a surprised shriek and ducked for cover.

When the screams softened to whimpers, I looked back at the window.

Staring back at me, with an expression I had never seen before, was a large man. His eyes were wild and his hands were covered in red. My eyes wandered down and I saw a small, crumpled body laying a few feet from the window. Covered in red.

The air around me suddenly felt stale, though I did not know why. Without warning, his large hands shot out at me, clasping around my neck with a strong and unwavering grip. His nails dug into my skin. It was hard to breathe.

Clink

I dropped to the ground. Gasping for air, my hands flew up to cover my neck. Slimy, warm liquid oozed steadily from various places and touching my neck created a wave of unpleasant prickles. Even after I pulled my hands away, the liquid and prickling persisted on. The man, I noticed, was no longer paying attention to me. Instead, he had turned his attention back to the person on the floor. They were clumsily trying to back away and didn't get very far. The man caught up quickly, raised a lamp over his head, and brought it down. With a familiar clink, the person went limp and the man returned his attention to me. His eyes, watering with tears of joy, were unguarded and raw with emotions unknown to me. I couldn't help but stare in awe.

Before I knew it, his hands were around my neck again. This time, however, I didn't mind.

As I stared into the man's wild eyes, I reflected on my quiet city, quiet neighborhood, quiet household. Black spots began to creep over my vision, obscuring the man's face. I closed my eyes.

And now, I think, I have a quiet heart.