Silence

2

A crash. Glass breaking. Screaming. A gun going off. Crying. Begging. The sound of my heart beating as I rush to the closet to hide. Another gunshot. Footsteps. Screaming. That's me.

I wake up bathing in sweat from the sound of my scream. I sit up and look around. Looking for him. Realizing I'm in my bed. In another location. Safe.

I get up to check the front door. Make sure all the locks are in place. Like I do many times a day. Excessively. Lock OCD.

I wipe my forehead. Try to control my breathing. The nightmares are getting worse. Again. They calmed down for some time. Now I'm back there almost every night.

I walk to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Sit in front of the tv. Not really present. Thoughts are drifting. I shudder. It has been a long time. I should be able to move forward. But how do you do that?

Muting myself is probably my way of punishing myself. For living. At least that's what one of my therapists said. Survivor's guilt. Makes sense. I do feel guilty. It's stupid, I know. I should just talk. Me being silent doesn't change anything. It won't bring them back.

I open my mouth. Take a deep breath. Try to form a word but nothing comes out. I'm sweating again. Panicking. I close my mouth abruptly. Sigh. Reach for my notebook. Trying to cope with silent words on a paper. I'm so messed up. A freak. Broken.

I try to think of something else. Him. Louis. The beautiful man who communicated with me yesterday. Hand gestures. A silent language.

Dream

Is this reality
or is it only a bad dream?
Right or wrong
blurring together
Am I the murderer
or the victim?

All I see is in grey
No black or white
No happiness or sadness
Just numbness inside

When the night comes
And the sun goes down
That day is all I think about
Feeling like I'll never get away
Those seconds in replay
Running out for help
My tears and screams
Lost in the rain...

But it was too late
But I survived
Just another day
And that's what I keep dreaming at night
Lost in my own head.

I sigh. Now my dreams of reality invade my poetry as well. It hurts. It's hard to ignore when bad dreams turn into words. It's there. On a paper.

I close the notebook. Glance at the time. Early morning. Four hours before I have to be at work. I sigh again. A hand through my hair. I get up and return to the bedroom. I should at least try to sleep. My eyes are burning. Stare empty at the ceiling. Doze off.

I show up at work. Tired. Exhausted. Same procedure. Eyes glued to the floor. Hurrying. Silence then whispers. I still hate it. Passionately.

I sink down at my desk. Put my notebook aside. Fire up my computer. I really need a coffee but then I have to walk past them again. Vultures. Someone touches my arm. I almost scream. Almost. I look up. It's him. Smiling. Two coffee cups in his hands. He hands me one. Signs good morning while he says it out loud.

I sign good morning back before I reach for the coffee. God sent. I make sure to sign a thank you as well. I don't want to come off as rude.

"You're welcome. Great day, isn't it?" He grins. Speaks and signs.

I stare at him. I wish I had his optimism. I sign sure. Too bad it's difficult to be ironic in sign language. Maybe it's for the best. Probably. He doesn't have to encounter my darkness.

"Alright, I better get to work. Talk to you later." Speaks and signs. Looks at me.

"Okay." I sign back.

He smiles as he leaves. He's probably one of those people where nothing bad ever happened to them. I'm jealous.

I open my mail and go through the emails sent to me. One is from someone anonymous claiming that they slept with David Beckham. I immediately delete it. Even if I write the gossip column I never add stuff like that without solid proof. Even then I don't add it, unless my boss directly tells me to.

The day goes by. I write a piece about Daniel Radcliff's new girlfriend. Before I know it people start to disappear into the break room so I pause as well and take out my salad and juice box.
"Hi, Harry. Wanna join me in the break room?"

I hear him before I watch him sign. I shake my head.
"Alright, can I join you here then?"

He wants to eat at my desk? Why? I shrug. He takes that as an invitation and grabs a chair and takes a seat. I save my notebook as he takes out a sloppy sandwich. He must have been prepared. Gotten the sandwich from the break room before he came and asked me to join him. Probably knowing that I would say no. The others have likely told him. I don't know how I feel about that. I don't want him to know me through others. Through whispers. Through gossips. Hurtful words.

"So where are you from?" He signs.

That hit a nerve. Normal conversation topic. Bad memories for me. Holmes Chapel, Chesire I tell him.

"No way! I'm from Doncaster! That's close to each other. Does your family still live there?" He signs sounding enthusiastic.

Hurts.
"Not anymore." I sign. Hoping he'll drop it. He does.

"Oh, alright. So how long have you worked here?" He asks instead.

"Two years." I sign to him. He smiles.

We eat our lunches. He asks me questions. I ask a few back. It's the polite thing to do. When our lunch break is over he gets up.
"I better get back to work."

"Me too." I sign back.

"This was nice." He tells me. Signs simultaneously.

It was. I nod my head. Smile a little.