Silence | Book 1

2-12: Play [M-T]

In silence he used a set of brightly coloured crayons to draw on large, thick sheets of paper. He laid belly down on a bare, laminated floor that felt slightly cold. The white walls were equally barren, except for a single window that let in the moonlight, and looked out over the mountains and the star filled sky. A single, metal bed stood in the corner, but the frame itself had been covered in soft foam and any possible sharp edges were removed.

His clothes were as white as the walls; he wore only a plain shirt, elastic waistband shorts and step-in canvas shoes. Around the wrist of the hand with which he drew, he wore a white rubber armband with his name and the institution's name on it. But he didn't mind so much, more focused on his drawings.

He had drawn out many scenes in colourful crayon – memories entwined with his creativity. There was a drawing of a man with crab claws that sparked, and a small, blindfolded figure on a table. In another drawing a man with a snake head had wrapped around that same figure bound and crying on the floor. One page was coloured entirely in black except for two figures huddled together in a corner. Another drawing was of only a face, with few details aside from black hair and a hollow expression, scratched out in red crayon. Several pages were not drawn on at all, but the simple repetition of the sound that a whirring fan made, over and over and over.

He sat up, and looked at the drawings spread out all around him. Sometimes his gaze stuck on one of them, as if he had been paused; immobile and wide eyed, until he would break out of it and look at the next drawing.

A soft knock on the door rang through his room. Immediately he hid his face in his arms and screamed at the top of his lungs, to make whomever disturbed him to go away. They would take him again, to places he didn't want to go. To places that hurt.

The door creaked open, very slowly. Afraid of who would come through, he hid in the only spot he could find: under the bed. He scrambled away into the furthest corner, as far away from the door as he could. With both arms he grabbed his knees and pulled them up to his chest. His breaths sped up when he saw the door creak open further. To calm himself down he rocked back and forth in a slow pace, the repetitive motion offering some stability to his frightened mind.

From where he laid he could see two black shoes and white pants, but the bed blocked the view of anything more. Afraid of being found, he tried to make himself even smaller than he already was, pushing himself back into the corner as far as he could. He closed his eyes and tried not to make a sound. The door closed again, and no matter how soft, it send a shock through his body. He felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

「Hibiki?」The male voice was very gentle, barely even a whisper. 「I brought you dinner, you can come and have some whenever you want. I will sit down to take a few notes of your pretty drawings, okay?」

He heard the sound of someone sitting down, but he didn't look. Even if he was starving, he had always eaten his food when the man was gone from his room.

But he was truly hungry, and for days now the doctor had done nothing but take notes. Never getting any closer. It was no different this day; he could hear the pen scratching away at the paper. The smell of a warm dinner invited him.

He took a deep breath, and as slowly as he could unfolded himself. Cautious not to make a noise or bump into things. Bit by bit he crawled forward, towards the tray that had been put down just before the bed end. He watched the man in the corner, but he didn't seem to notice him, focused completely on his notepad.

A little more confident that he wouldn't be spotted, he moved out from under the bed and slowly reached for the tray of food. The whole time he looked at the man in the corner, but he didn't give so much as a glance up even when he quickly pulled the tray back under the bed with him.