Many people think of the silence as just that, silence. Oh but there is so much more to it than that. Silence is the rout of all life. Born silent, then your screaming, die silent, while everyone else cries out. Silence is the crimson red that courses threw us, the vital blood we all share; All of us but we waste it. We fight and battle for what? More power? More respect? The only one getting respect is the silence. Silence becomes peace, peace becomes trust. Just like my little prize and I, four years we have been here, society threw him out to die like garbage; Because of what? He didn't believe the same things as you? Because he was different? That's why I took him in, I showed him the silence. Showed him how we are equal, the same. How the world is cruel and unjust. Life isn't a journey; it's a path with many roads. Twisting and turning, confusing and disorientating, all until you accept it, accept that your left behind, and all you here is silence. But you don't have to be alone, oh not alone at all. That's why I picked up my prize, my prize for accepting silence and for that, I'm not alone. It's pitiful really, this little boy beaten and battered by life, he has given up you might say; so I looked at him and he looked at me, no words exchanged. After a few moments of staring, I walk over and hold out my hand, he wobbles to his feet, and I carry him back here. No words shared, no how are you? Or what's your name? No, just by sharing the moment of silence we understood each other. Here we resign, four years later. We don't talk much, but it's not needed, we trust and have the same goal, rid our lives of our problems, let nothing hold us back. He's been my responsibility, my partner, my trophy. Just because its quiet doesn't mean you're alone, just because you have a knife in your back, doesn't mean you're dead.
Speaking of which, is little one still sleeping? Well I hope he didn't catch a case of hypothermia, which would be horrendous. Silence, even while sleeping, he can be so quiet sometimes that I have to check if the boy is still breathing. He is, quiet little breaths and every so often a shiver. I did a fine job on patching you up, if I say so myself. Don't need you bleeding all over the place. Just more stick mess to clean up. And the aroma can be death itself. But alas you, like the memories faded trance still linger with me. You're my beacon to my past, which I would like to erase, but you are my prize, my diamond, my love, and we must not part. Silence has been interrupted, silence has been interrupted. Pounding and pounding on my door. Not only have the silence been interrupted, now you prize has too; startled he jumps, shaking even worse. Poor little child frightened by the continuation of the pounding and pounding; the voices are restless, the pounding gets louder and the silence had been disturbed. Only sweet steel can fix this mess. I leave the child in the bedroom wistfully running to the door, with knife in hand the door is opened to see a little girl, no more than ten standing in front of me. I look down at her and say nothing. She looks at me and begins to talk, "cookies? Would you like some tree scout cookies? Two boxes for five dollars." She whines, the whining it rips at my head turning my brain to a puddle, I can feel my hand with the knife stab the door frame as I lean to one side. I hesitate and say in a dead raspy voice, "cookies? Would I like some cookies? No. I would not. I hate the things. Corn starch and sugar eats away at you from the inside out. They are deadly if enough is consumed... but my little boy loves cookies the chocolate ones. But I won't buy two," I pause to get my wallet to see what's inside. All I have is a ten and a picture of my prize, "I'll take four. Four boxes of your rat poison...." She just looks at me silently, beautiful, I understand what she wants and I whisper "thank you, Seanoa." She looks at me startled, "you know my name? how." I wave her inside and close the door behind her. Ten problems disposed of. And four boxed of sugar covered rat poison.
