The bell rings.
I grab my backpack and shuffle out of English class, the last of the day. He tried to get me to speak again. I hope he could not hear my pounding heart, my shallow breaths.
I cannot yet.
It's been a month
WHEN?
WHEN WILL I BE ABLE TO DO IT?
TO SHOUT.
TO YELL.
TO SCREECH.
TO SPEAK.
to whisper.
Everyone has stopped except for him.
Trying, that is, to get me to speak. To get me to communicate. In the past SIX months, SEVEN people have heard my name. TWO of them are dead.
I can hear the whispers, they surround me wherever I go.
The MIME, they call me. I get asked if my parents pressed the mute button and left it on.
Don't they know that they're dead?
seVeN PeOPLe.
FIvE alIVe.
tHReE deAd to ME.
OnE hEARS tHe WhISPerS.
YOU ARE READING
Silent
RandomHer parents are dead, and now she doesn't speak. He wants to push her, but how far, and why?
