Mute

Chapter One

August 26, 2012

No one ever really bothers to stop and think about death and what comes after it. It's very human of all of us to simply ignore the harsh reality that one day we will all die. Honestly, I never really thought about that because I had no reason too. I had no reason too because my life was going well with my mother.

She had finally earned that raise in her newspaper job and we both celebrated when she arrived that night from work. It was such a moment of exhilaration because we had hope. Hope that finally we could both have a comfortable life together and we could pamper ourselves with luxuries that we never had the fortune to have.

My mother. What words can I possibly use to describe her and do her justice? She was so beautiful even the way that her eyes crinkled when she laughed as she watched a comedy show. I never understood her humor, she practically found everything hilarious and was so light with situations. She was my best friend and i'm serious as I write this.

My mother was my only friend because I never fully fitted in, in my school, everyone always thought of me as a complete outcast and never bothered to hear or acknowledge me.

I remember coming home  several times crying and my mother wiping away the tears in my eyes as she heard me cry out the pain of being rejected. The rejection was so bad that when there was school discussions no one ever wanted to be my partner and so I was the loser stuck with the teacher. There was nothing wrong with my teachers, they were all caring and understanding but I wished for someone to be friends with me. Someone that I can have sleep overs with and share secrets.

But none of that was possible and I grew comfortable in my loneliness. Taking in hobbies like writing, drawing and reading. My number one supporter was my Mother. God, I miss her so much, it's really hard to cope with reality knowing that she isn't here with me anymore. Waking up from my coma and losing my ability of speech is even worst, I have to move in with my father that I never met and try to build a relationship with him. Crazy right? How can I even do that when I can't speak. When I'm mute and even before the accident no one ever bothered to listen to me.

All except my mother.

****

I close my journal unable to continue writing. This is really hard for me and not letting it out was stressing me a lot. I grab my journal and drop it inside my bag as I slide it on my shoulder. I take one final look around my room and stifle a sob from escaping me. It looks cold and empty with all the furniture gone and my personal belongings. Even before I had woken up from my coma my small apartment that I once shared with my mom was empty out.

I couldn't even argue, even if I wanted too because my mothers' will was very specific with what she wanted. The furniture was donated to a children's hospital and her clothes were boxed up. I hurt to see her things go away so I kept them. I wanted things that reminded me of her and sometimes I would smell her clothes. Loving the way her familiar scent still lingered in her belongings and it brought some comfort to my agony.

I walk outside my room slowly, trying to take in the apartment before leaving forever. From all the crying that I'd been doing my eyes had stopped crying. Running out of tears to shed and the lump in my throat making it impossible to eat. My finger tips skim the bare walls and my eyes scan the place thats been my home for 15 years. It's unbelievable how my life changed in a matter of seconds. My dry eyes burn since they are incapable of shedding any more tears and I let out a long sob that turns into a hiccup in the end. 

I close the apartment door and watch as the neighbors say goodbye to me with pity written all over their eyes. I didn't bother acknowledging them and continue forward. Counting my steps as I walked down the stairs. 20 steps.

20 steps are the amount that led me to the bottom floor to the door that will end my past and lead me to my unknown future. I knew that behind that door there would be a car waiting for me that my father sent to pick me up.

I Find it very frustrating that even my father didn't have the audacity to come pick me up in such a difficult time. It would help to finally put a face to a stranger that starting today I would be under full custody until the age of 18.

I close my eyes, breathing in deeply and imagine my mother standing next to me.

Being my number fan.

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Brief. I'm very experimental with this new story and well.

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