Trapped by Fear

Chapter 10

(Elsa's POV)

North knocked on my door the next morning. He came marching in almost as soon as I opened the door. Behind him floated a small golden man, the Sandman.

"Sandy here wishes to speak with you about your dreams," North announced with a wave of his hand.

"I thought you said you had a job for me?"

"Maybe I misspoke,"

I raised an eyebrow skeptically, but North was already out the door. Sighing I turned to Sandy and waited for him to explain what was going on. I soon discovered, however, that he spoke even less than me. He seemed to be mute and only communicated by making shapes above his head with his dream sand. I would've been content to sit in a corner and ignore him, but he was determined to have a conversation. I guess it was time for a game of charades.

I had never been good at charades. When my family played, I-. 'No Elsa.' I said to myself. 'Don't think about them, conceal, don't feel, just...let them go.' I took a deep breath to steady myself and turned my attention to Sandy. Maybe I could use a distraction after all.

.

.

.

After finally decoding some of what he was saying about dreams and nightmares he asked me a question.

"Why I don't speak?"

He nodded.

"You first."

*Sandy signs*

"ok deal"

I took a deep breath and ordered my thoughts. Sandy waited patiently till I was ready. He was a good listener. And not just because he couldn't interrupt you when you were talking. He had an air of calm about him. Like his presence was inviting you to talk and patiently waiting for you to do so.  And so, in the quiet space that we shared, I told him as best I could.

.

.

.

I'm no psychologist but I think it had to do with trauma or something. Speaking just felt too hard sometimes. The words couldn't be bothered to drag themselves out of my mouth. Years of not talking or being listened to, made words seem futile. It wasn't worth the effort of drudging up stupid syllables that had already been said anyway.

Besides, I had spent years keeping my thoughts to myself. They became precious, the one thing that no one could take from me. The one thing that was a constant, that was mine. My thoughts became like treasures and to share them might tarnish their worth.

 Maybe I hated the sound of my voice? Hated the way that it never brought anything good. It only ever screamed, or cried, or pushed people away. I didn't want to give it that chance.

Truly I didn't know for sure. I just...didn't like to talk.

Then it was Sandy's turn...

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No one has ever heard the Sandman speak. Some think he can speak but chooses not to, others think he lost his voice, and some think he never had one at all. There are surely other theories floating around as well. But through a series of pictures and gestures, Elsa became the only living being to know Sandy's story. No one else ever has or ever will be told this story. And that includes you, dear reader. Some secrets are just too deep to share. And some things are better left to the imagination. All I can say is that it really is a story worth hearing. Maybe one day, in your dreams, he will tell it to you...