The Flaws of being a Hiccup take III

Chapter 20: Quiet

Matthew

Creaking stairs were the only thing that I could hear admidst the rather awkward silence. Hugging myself with my arms snug around my small body, trying to keep what was left of me safe. Setting some boundaries, warning them not to come any closer. Mum had taught me it, she taught me a lot of things. Especially about how it was bad to stay with strangers, especially ones you didn't trust,  and strangely enough  I still didn't trust these people. Which was going against one of mummy's number one rules. But as long as I was up here, away from them, I was safe. Or so I thought.

Maybe it was the way they talked? Maybe it was how they acted too nice and hospitable to be normal, real even, whilst in my experience and according to my mother, this wasn't normal. My mind circled around my mother's many teachings but nothing came to mind. They were just too good, but no one's this good, or so I had been told. But maybe it was the feeling that something was going on that made me feel uneasy, maybe it's because I was starting to judge whether whatever my parents had taught me was wrong, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I brushed my hair back with one of my hands that I had managed to free from the tight vice - like hold of myself. Then beginning to scratch the back of my neck nervously, it was a habit. Something that I was used to doing, I don't know why.

My feet kept changing, uncomfortably fidgeting on the spot trying to even my weight out by changing from foot to foot, hoping that the creaking beneath me would ease some tension. I don't like quiet. Quiet is bad, or so daddy had told me. Another lesson that I had managed to seize in my mind, dragging me back to time I had spent with my father, a time j was no longer sure I would ever be able to revisit again, so I closed my eyes momentarily trying to grasp it, keep it locked in my sights.

I remember fishing with my dad awhile back, probably a few months before now, but I can't be sure. My hands were turning white as they clutched onto a small fishing rod, as if for the very first time. As if it were the last time I would ever be able to hold it, as if it was something so valuable that I would always treasure it. Looking back further I now remember that Dad had made it for me. I remember that I had never felt so proud to be apart of something that my dad loves doing, something he's good at, and the joy that I finally got a fishing rod, for me it was a dream come true! It was a sign of trust. I was growing up.

I noticed the boat bobbing slowly up and down, and the small breeze that blew by making the ship rock back and forth, swaying peacefully on the calm surrounding ocean. I loved days like this, you could notice things.

The boat, I now remember, had been anchored by my father. "so it doesn't move," my father had told me, as I just nodded taking in yet another load of information from him.

My father hummed merrily, I noticed that he did that a lot. I'm not sure why. It made me feel sleepy, and probably the fishes too so I wasn't sure how it was happening.

"why do you do that?" I had asked him one day. My rod still not managing to catch anything.

"do what?" he asked,  turning towards me and shifting on the wooden crate of which he was perched on, ready and waiting for anything.

"hum," I say, also turning towards him, but not letting go of my rod even though I had already given up hope of ever catching anything.

He shrugged, sighing and turning back towards the still water. Eyeing it perceptively, checking for the slightest movement before he finally spoke, "quiet is bad," he said simply.

"why?" I ask him confused by his statement. I didn't understand, how was quiet bad, it was awkward yes, but nothing in the sense made it bad.

He turned toward me once again, setting down his rod and turning towards me. Giving me his knowing grin it leant in to speak to me as I copied him and did the same.

"quiet means nothing, son. Quiet means the end of everything you know. Imagine not being able to hear the lapping of the waves against the shore, or the banging against the ship. Imagine that you were all alone, and there was was... silence. Absolute and completely defeaning silence." he leant back again, turning towards the steady ocean's surface. "quiet," he said gesturing towards the ocean, "too quiet, our livelihood rests in the hands of this, not a fish in sight. It's quiet..." he tells me, gripping onto his rod again, "and quiet is bad." he repeats what he said earlier.

The slight tug of my rod, makes me drag my attention away from my dad as he grins and says, "I think you've caught something..."

"hey," I hear from the bottom of the creaky wooden, and probably unsafe stairs, bringing me back to the dawning reality again. Daddy wasn't here. Mummy wasn't here. I was alone with a bunch of  strangers, and it was no longer quiet. And I couldn't help but think, that is good...

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