Silence Is Never Quiet

Prologue

Silence. 

Nothing, but silence.

It wasn’t a calming silence, rather one that stabs the remaining air letting your demons rip through and whisper in your ear little things that don’t matter. It was soon interrupted by the drops of rain beginning to fall on the roof and the window. It grew heavy, the more I tried to ignore it. It felt like my ears zoned in on it as it got louder before a crash of thunder alerted my ears and caused my body to jump. I closed my eyes tightly before cupping my hands over my ears. Eventually as I let my hands fall back down,  gripping the blanket,  I heard a creak of a bed across the room as a child rolled over. I was the only one awake, again. I tried to adjust myself to a rather uncomfortable bed, for the fifth time tonight. I hated this place, with a passion. I could never sleep, no matter how long I kept my eyes shut. I only see nightmares of my reality. I can see the pain over, and over, and over. My life was normal at a point, I had parents. It’s not like I just got here. I’ve been here for many years at the orphanage, but of course, everyone picks the younger kids. No one wants a 15-year-old, I’ve learned that the older you get the more worthless you are. I lost my parents to different tragedies, my mother overdosed and my father was killed in a shooting. I was an only child, although I’ve always wanted a little brother or sister. I usually try to get closer to the kids around my age though, we all know that we won’t leave. 

I’ve seen a few go, and others age out. My closest friend was Samantha Marino. She was a nice girl, quiet and smart. She was taken by a delightful couple, very formal. They fit her.  I hope she’s doing well. When you reach 18 you age out, some kids are even found on the streets because they had no role models and no clue how to do anything. Like Mike Scott, I heard rumors he was a beggar on the streets. I was never going to beg. I was going to do things my way and survive. I didn’t want to rely on others.

 I sat up and brought my knees to my chest, hugging them close. Trying to find comfort. I sat there until the morning sun rays shined through the curtains,  revealing the dust particles in the air. My body ached as I moved again to lay back down. I felt like a zombie, brain dead. I have tried to sleep multiple times, but no matter how many times I closed my eyes I never can just drift off. People suggested counting sheep, or just count to 100. I’ve counted to 743, and still, I haven’t slept. I don’t remember the last time I ate either. I haven’t felt anything other than panic, so when I force food down it still comes up.

 Every noise makes me jump now, I feel like I can’t breathe. Am I going crazy? I’m always paranoid, I see things lingering in the dark. In pure silence, I hear the whispers in my ears. Every time I close my eyes, I don’t see darkness. I see voids that lead to my imagination, a place I don’t want to adventure. Suddenly the door opened, letting the cold air flow by me.

“It’s 8 in the morning, you boys need to get up and get dressed. Breakfast will be done shortly.” Said our caregiver, Nancy. She gets us to wake up, but that’s all. She’s in charge of us like we’re prisoners. That’s what this place is, it’s just a prison. You’re only allowed to leave when someone wants you again. I saw as the others started to get up, getting ready as I still laid down. I didn’t feel motivated to get up, I never do. 

When I finally got up, my body felt weak, dead.  Dreadful, I dare say.  I don't want to get up, not because I'm lazy but rather because I know each day will come with its own tragedies.