I can hear you.

Chapter Two

High school:

High school, if anything, is worse than primary school. Everyone was more sorted into cliches: I'm sure you all know them. They're never really specified by actual names.

You have the big group in the main year, who can be lovely people if you stay on their good side, but heaven help you if you're on their bad side. These are the people that think they own the school, and in a way, they do.

Then you have your 'bad' people. The troublemakers in and out of class. And there's also the ones who could be classed as nerds or geeks. They just try very hard in their studies. You've got your wanna bes who try too hard to get into the main group and you've little groups of people who are on the edge.

Not forgetting the loners of course.

At the start I was a loner. I can hardly blame anyone though. What are they going to do, come and stand beside me, awkwardly? I can't communicate with anyone, so it is no one but my own fault that I have no friends. I continued to struggle through my lessons by my tracing of letters.

I am not depressed by all this. It's an existence. And it's not like I've never been happy. I had created a language. I created sounds, drew them out of the air to match the symbols that I read. I loved certain words like 'captivation' and 'hurricane'. Some words seemed to hang in the air like Christmas decorations while others sliced through with one clean cut. I was never happier than when I sat in my room and spoke.

Years passed. I am in my fifth year of high school now. I will do my exams at the end of the year and then I'm gone. I'm getting out of here forever.

It's the middle of a physics lesson. Or maybe it's the end of the lesson. I'm not sure. I can feel my eyelids drooping in the still air. Not that it makes a difference to my sight but it helps me look a bit more normal if my eyes are open. Suddenly I can hear a scraping of chairs and shuffling around so I assume the light that signals the end of class went off.

Gathering my stuff together, I am the last trudge out the class. I jump in surprise when someone touches my shoulder just as I round a corner. I spin around, realise this is futile and put on my best scowl, in an attempt to get whoever it is, to leave me alone. Most of the time, I'm just not worth the effort of the bullies, which I'm grateful for I guess. Oh, please please please leave me alone.

I expected them to grab my bag and I would reach in vain to get it back. Perhaps they would spit in my eye. Maybe they would simply shove me or trip me up.

I didn't expect a slate to be gently pushed into my hands. It's one of the slates I use for learning in class. The surface is soft and can be indented and smoothed flat. That way other people can write something and I can trace my fingers on it to read it. It was very tricky to learn to trace at first but you learn to sharpen all your other senses when it's all you've got. I have several of these slates in my bag and each of my teachers have one. I sighed in relief. It was only one of my teachers wanting to tell me something.

I delicately follow the lines with my finger and I feel a jolt at its message.

*Hello. I don't think you know me. My name is Sing. I'm in most of your classes.*

I guessed where his face was and glared in that direction. I may be blind, but I have perfect a glare by mere instinct alone. I signed, "What do you want?" I felt the slate being pulled from my hand before being returned, delievering a new message.

Reluctantly, I read this one too.

*Well do you want to do something? After school?*

Suddenly, I felt so angry. How dare he? How dare he do this to me? This was worse than being bullied and ignored. Trying to trick me. Making me think that someone liked me, that someone could bear to try communicate with me. Why can't people just leave me alone?

I kept my face straight. Dropping the slate, I just walked away. The tinny ringing from the slate echoed around the corridor, heard only by me.