nothern lights · geoclock

❝i have to cross entire oceans when...❞

I NEVER KNEW I, Tony Hamlock, would ever find love.

   I was a young man back than. A man whom had a heart in an iron casket and did not want to speak to no-one. I was an outcast, dare I say. Not in the traditional sense you would imagine.

Nobody enjoyed me. I was loud, rude and some would even claim egotistical. I was, and still am a brat. A bland brat at that.

Bland was I. I was no different from the others. We all went out and paid our dues, to dance and sing in light voices with heavy chests. We all had one bond; and that bond was created out of a sick thing. Emotional (and in some cases, physical) torture onto our students.

But one boy stood out.

His hair was a soft blue, softer than his skin and eyes. He was short; nearly the height of my old friend Sketch. He was shadowed by a tall, light blonde man with green eyes who claimed he was the wittiest and most clever out of any of us. He was able to count to fifty in an eye, print a picture and tell the time (when he said that I must say it did slightly offend me--I was the clock, not him.)

Nobody but me seemed to of seen the quiet young man that cowered in the corner. Nobody but me seemed to realize he wasn't in tip-top shape. I do not blame the others but rather I blame the cocky, narcissist who took the show.

The computer didn't catch my eye; the globe did. He was balled up, knees to chest, chin on knees. His rounded face was formed into a soft grimace as his lips twitched, eyes squinting and tears glistering down his face.

"Are you alright?"

I beckoned him, on one knee, looking at the shaking mess. He shook his head and looked to the side. He hugged himself tighter and swallowed.

"What is your name?"

He looked at me, blinking. I adjusted my top hat and sat in front of him, my legs crossed.

"Did you hear me the first time?"

He nodded, looking downwards. I gave a forced smile to hide frustration.

"Can you not speak, than? Too scared? Mute?"

He nodded.

"At which one?"

I bit my tongue; how would he be able to answer such a thing without speaking?

Than an idea struck.

"Sketch! May I borrow a notebook of yours?" I shouted, catching the boy off-guard and burying himself in his grasp again.

I coughed loudly; exaggerating to grant attention. Sketch's tiny head than swiftly looked over to me, excusing herself to rush over to me.

"Tony?" she spoke, looking down at the scared boy than back up at me. "What is going on? Who is he?"

I ignored her asks. "Can I borrow a paper and pencil as I asked prior?"

She looked at me and sighed, rummaging through an old bag and handing me it, my fingers out for grasping.

I inhaled deeply; anxiety clearing with the oxygen took and slid the paper and pencil to the boy.

"Write down your name and if you are mute, please."

He removed his head from his knees and gently took the paper and pencil, scribbling and giving it back, quickly and without contact.

I accepted it heartily.

i am mute. my name is gilbert.