The Screaming Hope
Don't let anything make you depressed:
- What is your name?
I don’t wanna talk.
- Why are you here?
I’m not feeling like talking.
- What are you doing?
Not today. Not ever.
- Why was my mother crying?
I’m really not feeling like talking…
- Why don’t you answer me?
… anymore.
- Why are you crying?
I feel empty.
- Did something happen?
And I feel like I won’t success in filling this emptiness.
- How old are you?
Is it normal for someone my age to feel like this?
- Where do you come from?
I also feel like…
- Where are your parents?
… I want to join my mother.
- Why do you look so sad?
I definitely think it’s not normal to think like that.
The voice sighs and fades away. I feel better.
But I’m still not feeling like talking. Not today. Not ever.
- Why did you look so absent today at school?
I don’t wanna move.
- Why didn’t you talk?
I’m not feeling like moving.
- Do you have any friends?
Not today, but maybe later.
- Are you lonely?
I don’t wanna move, but I want to do something to beguile the time.
- Are you going to stay at home for a long time?
I want my mother and her fabulous stories back.
- Why don’t you talk?
I need to read.
- Will you ever talk to me?
- Yes, I will, I answer. Do you have any books?
- These ones here, on the left, are in Ethranian. I suggest you to pick the ones in English, on the right.
The library is pretty big: separated in two halves, there must be over a thousand books in here, which cause my eyes to widen.
- No, they aren’t mines, they are exclusively my mother’s, the voice says. I don’t really like books, I prefer drawings.
All the books are sorted out by alphabetical order and presented on eight stands in total. They are encircled by five large blue walls and a white ceiling.
- Well, now, would you please tell me your name? the voice asks.
I feel like I have to answer. Should I?
- Please?
And I also have to look up and see who is asking me questions since yesterday. Almost painfully, my eyes roll up and my spine straightens offering a better position to my head to see whose the voice is.
By it, I already knew it was a girl’s, but I didn’t know what she looked like. The first word that crosses my mind when I see her is “beautiful”. No, stop it. It looks like these cheesy stories mom used to recount me for fun.
The voice’s girl is a bit taller and paler than me; she has long curly chocolate hair and very dark brown eyes, accompanied by full lips that are currently crooked into a pretty smile.
Before I do anything, my mouth is already betraying me and saying:
- Ricken Pierce.
But I said I don’t wanna talk anymore, not today, not ever!
- And what is your name?
- Layla Al.
I don’t wanna talk.
- Why are you here?
I’m not feeling like talking.
- What are you doing?
Not today. Not ever.
- Why was my mother crying?
I’m really not feeling like talking…
- Why don’t you answer me?
… anymore.
- Why are you crying?
I feel empty.
- Did something happen?
And I feel like I won’t success in filling this emptiness.
- How old are you?
Is it normal for someone my age to feel like this?
- Where do you come from?
I also feel like…
- Where are your parents?
… I want to join my mother.
- Why do you look so sad?
I definitely think it’s not normal to think like that.
The voice sighs and fades away. I feel better.
But I’m still not feeling like talking. Not today. Not ever.
- Why did you look so absent today at school?
I don’t wanna move.
- Why didn’t you talk?
I’m not feeling like moving.
- Do you have any friends?
Not today, but maybe later.
- Are you lonely?
I don’t wanna move, but I want to do something to beguile the time.
- Are you going to stay at home for a long time?
I want my mother and her fabulous stories back.
- Why don’t you talk?
I need to read.
- Will you ever talk to me?
- Yes, I will, I answer. Do you have any books?
- These ones here, on the left, are in Ethranian. I suggest you to pick the ones in English, on the right.
The library is pretty big: separated in two halves, there must be over a thousand books in here, which cause my eyes to widen.
- No, they aren’t mines, they are exclusively my mother’s, the voice says. I don’t really like books, I prefer drawings.
All the books are sorted out by alphabetical order and presented on eight stands in total. They are encircled by five large blue walls and a white ceiling.
- Well, now, would you please tell me your name? the voice asks.
I feel like I have to answer. Should I?
- Please?
And I also have to look up and see who is asking me questions since yesterday. Almost painfully, my eyes roll up and my spine straightens offering a better position to my head to see whose the voice is.
By it, I already knew it was a girl’s, but I didn’t know what she looked like. The first word that crosses my mind when I see her is “beautiful”. No, stop it. It looks like these cheesy stories mom used to recount me for fun.
The voice’s girl is a bit taller and paler than me; she has long curly chocolate hair and very dark brown eyes, accompanied by full lips that are currently crooked into a pretty smile.
Before I do anything, my mouth is already betraying me and saying:
- Ricken Pierce.
But I said I don’t wanna talk anymore, not today, not ever!
- And what is your name?
- Layla Al.
Notes
Hope you enjoyed :)
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@nuclearcloud
I'm not fantabulous, silly... But awww thank you ;)
3/7/14