Mutism and Escapism [FVK]

Part One

PART ONE:

Being the school freak isn't as miserable an existence as the movies and the stories make out, you know.

I'm not saying it's a pleasant experience, because it's not, but it's not that dramatic, at least not for me anyway.

My names Kier, by the way. Most people in the school could tell you that and would then add on a comment after like 'the freak' or 'the silent weirdo'. I couldn't tell you that though, not with words; as the second insult suggests, I don't talk. Not at all.

I've been mute for years now, not a single word passing between my lips. Most of the time, it doesn't cause problems. The teachers have learnt not to ask me questions when I don't have a pen and paper and the students, well, I guess they've just learnt to ignore me.

I sit in my usual space at lunch - on my own by the window. I don't mind sitting by myself, because - if someone was to commit social suicide and sit next to me - I won't have be able to do anything but stare at any company I do get.

Picking at the small BLT baguette I have in front of me, I muse on how I'm going to spend the rest of the school day.

During RE, I'll probably paint my nails; the black and red I did the other day is chipped and looks scruffy. I don't know what I'll do during French, but I'm sure I'll find something; I might continue writing some lyrics that I started earlier.

I continue to eat my food, savouring the taste of crispy bacon and smiling as I remember the short time I tried to be a vegetarian for. Yeah, that didn't go well, the love and passion I had for bacon and meat feast pizza destroyed any will power I had to do it.

Checking my watch (digital because I'm just that lazy) I see that lunch will be drawing to an end in about ten minutes time. My next class may only been down the hall, but I feel no reason not to start heading over there. After all, I'm not doing anything here anymore - I've finished my food and it's not as if I have any social life to speak of.

I grab my black and white checkered backpack from it's place down by my feet and stand up - sliding it onto my back so it rests comfortably on my shoulders as I leave the dining hall.

Hundreds of lockers line the hallways I walk through on my way to my French class, still contemplating whether I should sleep or actually get something done next lesson (not anything school related, of course, but something I personally want to do).

The school is quite colourful compared to some; it's hallways are bright and painted different colours depending on what subject iss taught in that area. The corridor for the French classrooms is purple, as are the lockers which I run my fingers over as I walk through. Today has been a reasonably good day; nobody has given me any bother apart from the occasional whispering behind my back, but tha's better than them confronting me personally, in my opinion.

Standing outside the room, I immediately spott a new face waiting by the lockers, awkwardly shutting one I presume to be his before turning around.

Because I don't speak, I don't really interact with people, but I am very good at standing back and observing. I can tell you who does what when they're nervous, and what their body language is like when they're lying, but I can't tell you anything about them like their favourite colour or if they have pets. That's really kind of sad, in a way, but - as quite a few people have said and do say - I choose to be this way, I can interact if I want.

Except, that wasn't strictly true.

It used to feel like a choice, but now, I feel like I have to do it. The thought of talking to others makes me nervous; I know from experiences before I became mute that people are harsh and judgemental of whatever you chose to say. Sometimes they'll take it out of context and use it against you; they might twist your words; they might make fun of the opinions you express; they could ridicule every little detail.