Silent (Scomiche)

Craving Speech

This chapter is a bit...woah. It's confusing, but will be explained more in another chapter.

His days were very repetitive.

There wasn't much he could do to change it. With school, it was practically the same thing everyday. The only thing that was different was the weekends, like today.

Mitch woke up, feeling worse than he had in awhile. He didn't want to get up, he wanted to lie in bed and listen to the sound of his fan spiral in a quick circle, or the sound of birds chirping outside.

His parents, or Kirstie, or anyone could walk in and ask if he was okay, and he could just sit there and listen because it was impossible for him to explain what was wrong.

He wanted to yell, and shout, and tell everyone in the world every little thing he was thinking. He wanted to know that he could say something, anything, other than a three letter word.

He craved speech, he craved sound. He craved just one time where he could hear himself say "I love you" to someone he cared about. He was tired of just thinking it and then writing it on a piece of paper.

He hated writing now. God, he hated paper and pencils and pens and anything that involved writing.

Four years of writing what he was thinking, feeling, and striving to say. Four years of wasted thoughts and memories. Four years of a wasted boy.

What's the point of living if you can't stand to tell the story. It was useless, he felt useless. He felt like he had taken the spot of another human that could've lived there life normally, but he rid them of life. He took it from them.

He took a normal son away from his parents, one that could tell them they loved them and how much they care for them. One that wouldn't of caused problems during birth, and problems throughout their lives.

One that was better than him.

He wouldn't of wasted a life, or wasted a son, or wasted the life of another. He wouldn't of been the disgrace Mitch thought he was.

He would've had reasoning. A reason to be on this earth. A reason to be alive.

A much better reason than Mitch had.

His phone buzzes, but he doesn't care to answer. He already knew it was Kirstie wondering why he was late to the beach. He was supposed to be going with Avi, Kevin, Scott, Esther, and Kirstie, but his bed just seemed a lot more appealing.

So he leaves his phone on his table, not daring to touch it or let her know he knew what it said.

It was almost noon and Mitch still didn't want to get up, he didn't want to face his parents. He was embarrassed that he forced them to raise him when they could've had much better.

He was definitely grateful they had raised him, but they didn't deserve this, they deserved a child that was completely capable of doing something as easy as talking.

But somehow, they still loved him. They still treated him like he was perfect, free of the flaws he knew he had.

His phone buzzes again, this time it would probably be a text about her worrying about him.

It buzzes again, and again, and again, and with every buzz, it makes Mitch more and more frustrated.

One last buzz is all it took for him. He screamed, ripping it off of the charger and pegging it at the wall, happy his parents were both at work and didn't hear it.

He listened to the satisfying thump it made when colliding with the wall and floor, shattered almost the whole screen.

He smiles, which turns into a laugh. A laugh so horrid, and full of hatred. A laugh that barely sounded human rather than a witch. A laugh that definitely wasn't Mitch's.

The laugh turned into a few tears, which soon turned into a few more. This led to weeping, then sobbing, then wailing.

Anger, and sadness, and everything that was the opposite of bliss was fluttering through his emotions, making him feel confused and scared.

He rips the comforter off of his bed, throwing it onto the ground. He pushes picture frames and pencil holders off of his desk, letting it fall into the floor.

He tips his desk over, not caring when his laptop all but snaps in the middle, making it completely inaccessible.

The pictures are torn from the walls, bed ruined, clothes thrown out of the closet and taking over the floor.

And he falls.

He falls onto the ground, holding his knees to his chest with so many feelings in his body that he can't even acknowledge what they are.

He sobs, letting out loud cries that could be heard by anyone. It felt loud enough for anyone to hear it. Neighbors, people walking by, even people down the street.

By his feet, he spots a picture frame. It now contains several cracks in the glass protection. It was of him and Kirstie and Avi and Kevin.

And it pissed him of.

He throws it, no, he chucks it across the room, letting it hit the wall and break into several pieces.

He lets out more sobs, curling into a ball and pushing himself further into the floor, if that was possible.

Ten minutes, twenty, turning into forty, and soon hours go by. He sits on the floor, eyes dried out from tears and legs to tired to allow him to get up.

That when the door barges open and Mitch's name is being yelled. A familiar figure is hovering over him, but he can't make out the face. He was emotionless, not making a move or sound. Not that he could make much sound anyway.

"What the fuck happened in here?" A voice says.

Mitch feels himself be pulled into strong arms, lifted into the back seat of a car with seat belts being wrapped around him.

He lets out a laugh. Not because he found this funny or because he was happy, but because he was tired and pathetic and couldn't do anything else but let his eyes shut.

They stayed shut until he couldn't remember shutting them in the first place.