Megan Unspoken

Stress

For the next few days after my first words, I stayed hidden in my room. Rather than painting pictures, I began to paint real words, decorating each letter in a unique style. Sometimes I painted clouds below them, as though they were flying.
I painted calm words, mad words, big words, sad words. I painted whatever came to mind.
That was all I did all day. In the morning, I would think of new words while I scarfed breakfast and brushed my teeth. This morning, the words were hope, scary and blue.
I quickly went back to my room to paint them, until Mom knocked on the door. I guess she was hoping I'd say, "Come in!".
But instead I opened the door.
"Megan flower," Mom began. "I know that this is difficult and all, but you have to try, baby. You have to talk. Now it is possible, you need to."
I shook my head.
"Hon," Mom sighed. "If you won't talk, I
will have to get you a speech therapist."
I froze. She wouldn't! I wished Mom knew that I wouldn't respond to one. Whether they were the best speech therapist in the world, I wasn't going to talk.
This impending threat gave me extra stress, and I started painting sloppier. I couldn't find many words to describe this. I started going back to painting pictures, using the colors again to describe my mood.
When I went to school the next day, I avoided students, except for Bella. I wrote down what Mom had said. Bella gasped.
"Megan you have to talk! Problems will occur if you keep putting this off! They'll start thinking something's wrong with you!" She exclaimed.
"That's what everyone keeps telling me," I wrote down irritably.
Bella shrugged.
"They're right."
Upset, I stomped away. Bella looked surprised and hurt, but did not go after me. I felt a little bad about that, but I was starting to get mad. If those wonderful words maybe weren't worth my tongue, then why should I speak?