Zane
I've always been deaf. I've never heard the birds singing, or the thunder rolling through the sky.
I've never heard my mum's voice. I couldn't hear the songs they sang to their funeral... maybe that's why I couldn't cry. Because the only voice filled with sorrow was my own. I was and still am the only one who can hear my voice. I can't hear them, so I can't see a reason to let them hear mine. What if they laughed at me? I wouldn't be able to hear them. They could laugh their arse off because of my voice witch would be too loud, or maybe because I had a funny accent. I wouldn't know, so just let them, I don't give a single fuck.
My name is Zane Jasper Edwards, and I'm 19 years old. I live in London, in England. I love this city. It's alive but at the same time it's so relaxed and welcoming. I moved here after they died. I just couldn't live there anymore. They're all gone now, and I'm supposed to move on, it's been two years and I'm still walking around, like a ghost. Christ sake.
Actually, I don't really like too many people. I'm claustrophobic as fuck. That might be because of the fact that I can't hear a shit and that it reminds me of what happened that morning.
Before the accident I was a whole different person. I loved kids and my biggest dream was to play the piano at concerts with classical music. It sounds weird when I'm deaf... but I am actually able to listen to music. I can feel the vibrations. And I loved the feeling of hundreds of people listen to me when I made the piano sound like a beautiful waterfall. I had the best friends in the whole world... until the day when I disappeared. I would take a run in the park every other day and look at the happy families and imagine what it would feel like to hear their voices, laughs and cries.
Right now, I'm sitting in my little apartment. It is not much, but I love it. I spend 90 percent of my time in here, so I had to make it special and well... like me. My kitchen isn't big, but it's really nice if I should say so myself. It is pretty old fashioned and kind of vintage. My living room is filled with my book shells, poems and quotes are filling the walls, and my window is filled with flowers. Yeah, flowers. I buy flowers all the time, because they remind of my hometown and how I used to watch all the flowers. And they're beautiful. Filled with colours and they give me this warm and happy feeling. When you can't hear you have to just watch and feel.
Well. As mentioned, I am sitting in my apartment, in my kitchen to be exact. While drinking my tea, I am considering if I should go to the library. It is just down the street so it won't take that much time. I just have to get off my lazy arse. I go to the sink, and put my mug in it, going to my little entrance and putting on my coat and worn out white converse.
Nikolas
''fuck'' I muttered under my breath and aimed after the glove. I am at the gym, boxing. It helps me release my anger. God damned anger issues- 1 blow. God damned parents - 2 blows. Fucking school - 3 blows. God forsaken principal- 4 blows. The sweat, were all over me, but I just kept going. I hated them. I hated them with a passion so great. They could not just treat me like some kind of toy. I wasn't their pet! I do not want to follow my dad's directions and commandoes. I am me. And not some kind of dog that does as told.
After about two hours in the ring I felt exhausted. My anger was gone and replaced with the usual defeat and worn out feeling. Heading to the showers I grabbed my water bottle and pulled off my gloves, throwing them to the ground.
After a long and refreshing shower I pulled on my grey sweats and a dark blue tee. With my leather jacket and keys and wallet in hand I made my way out of the building. I found my black range rover, seated myself behind the steering wheel and started the engine. When I was out of the parking lot, I speeded down the road, I felt betrayed, and slightly irritated at the fact that I felt like that. I didn't want to feel.
My hands gripped at the steering wheel too tight, and I couldn't wait to get out of this town so I could just drive where I wanted to, at the speed I felt like. But with me crossing the speed limit and being lost in thought, I didn't see the boy crossing the road obvious to me.
The breaks made an awful high pitched sound, and the next second I felt the car coming to a sudden stop. With adrenalin pumping through my veins, I clutched the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles became white like a ghost and I started to hyperventilate. Fuck. What the hell happened? Is he okay? What did I do?
With shaking hands and a raked breath, I climbed out of the car, panic written all over my sickly paled face.
Right there, on the ground lay a boy. No doubt a little younger than me. His light brown hair was violated by the wind and his eyes were screwed so tight together that I was sure it must hurt. He wasn't moving a single muscle and that made me panic and I fell on my knees beside him, calling him, afraid to touch him and make things worse. He clutched the book in his hands as tight as if his life depended on it.
''Hello? Are you okay? Does anything hurt?'' he just kept his eyes shut, not paying me any attention. I tried again.
''Hey. Can you hear me?'' still no answer. Instead of being angry as I usually would've been, I grabbed his shoulders. The, moment my hands made contact with his shoulders his eyes flew open. He stared at me and I couldn't help myself but get lost in his eyes. They were so blue... like blue diamonds. You wouldn't dare look at it, afraid it would break under your stare. The boy broke the stare and started to get up. That made my alarm clock ring.
''you have to lay still'' I said and put my hands on his shoulders again and pushed him down. He didn't say anything, just stared at me like I had said something wrong. Well well.
''what is your name? I'm Nikolas by the way.'' I said and stuck my hand out. He still didn't say anything, just stared at my hand, and then he got up and dusted his pants of. Not answering my question. What was up with him? Did he swallow his tounge or something?
