My Alpha Centauri (Completed)

我的河流詞|1.5

'He always spoke like I was nowhere and I loved him for that...I loved him for his soft voice and his understanding – because I was nowhere and he was everywhere.'

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A R T

'THIS IS, South everybody...' Sir announced, his arm waving about before he turned back to the supposed South, 'Take a seat beside, Art.'

His body spoke like my mouth used to and the familiar scent of mint and smoke transformed into the air and reminded me of the things that I was currently trying to forget.

'You Art?' He asked, his voice as dangerous as the ice in his eye and I nodded, ignoring the sounds coming from the people around us.

'I'm also silent...'

I wiggled the piece of paper in front of him, dropping it on his desk before turning back to the board and listening to the words spoken by people who didn't understand what it was like to run.

I felt his eyes on me and I turned to meet them, hoping that I wouldn't see the curiosity that burned, that killed and cracked. Instead I saw ice, ice in his blue eyes that reminded me of the river my words flowed from – suddenly I felt like he knew everything and that made me hurt.

'Do I need to speak for you then?' He murmured, the ice in his voice reminding me of the hurt in my heart – I didn't judge him though, he was like me; running away from something impossible to escape.

'No one speaks for those without voice...only for those with,'

South nodded, his eyes no longer holding malicious content and his voice no longer reminding me of snow. It was in that moment I realised that he didn't have to be like me to be like me because he was already like me and I wasn't like him.

I turned back to the white board, ignoring every face and thought that came into my brain.

'Being silent sounds cool,' He whispered into the air, his voice like snow melting into more snow and his eyes softer than cotton.

'No. It doesn't sound like anything.'

He laughed slightly at my answer before drawing on the piece of paper I had been using to communicate with him. His laugh wasn't like anyone else's and that made me ache, because it was hollow, empty and empty, waiting for something to come along and fill it back up.

He drew a man in a box and that made the sting in my eyes return along with the dread,

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'The box-man stared at everyone else with dull eyes, knowing that they didn't have a voice as cold as winter and eyes as hot as summer. He was alone. And he knew it. His love was nowhere yet everywhere at the same time...' I breathed, letting the smoke play with my mind and toy with my heart, 'She was in the sea. In the light and in the moon, her warm eyes appearing in everything he did. But he couldn't reach her, he couldn't feel her and he couldn't love her...not when he couldn't speak.'

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His eyes turned to stone and I watched him carefully; my eyes burning and my stomach churning.

'No one remembers...but I do...' He whispered to himself, wiping a strand of hair that fell onto his face. I didn't reply – not that I could – knowing that words weren't always needed when silence could be brought too.

And suddenly I felt a story stirring inside of me and that made me want to tell him, that made me want to speak my truth and remember the things that I could never forget.