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15:54
A boy was born to loving parents, they had named him Thomas before they had even seen him, to describe him only by their already pre-arranged love.
And once they did see him, they did love him, true, but surely not in the way that once did expect. For Thomas was born with his two lips sealed, where a mouth should open, there were no more than a sealed pure skin which reached from the nose to the chin.
Thomas grew quickly, and for every day that he had to inject drugs into him, and for every moment that he had to make sure he carried enough nose inhalers and tissues to prevent him from sufforcating... none of it mattered. Not even talking. The beauty of speech which he listened to, he knew he was born to forget about. Words that meant nothing, in the end. Simple knee jerk statements that fired eachother off.
Nobody really knew why they talked. Except Thomas, and that was a pain, because he couldn't tell them.
And for once, Thomas did fall in love. A beautiful woman named Christine that bothered him only for what she saw in him, and she spoke to him softly, and he could reply, and she could understand. They lived quitely in a small house in the middle of a long tripped woods, making love occasionally and going to Church on Sundays. And they eventually became married.
For the longest of times, Thomas was invincable. Christine listened to what he could say with no mouth, her eyes tingling as he told her of how much he loved her, and how much she meant to him, and she replied sweetly only by how he would expect, and from the heart.
And came the day when Christine fell ill, and before Thomas could find the heart to speak, she died of cancer in her sleep, with passionless eyes and skin which had accepted it's fate.
And for all the worlds that could be apart from his mind, and all the words that he had once heard, for all the dreams and tales that the two did share, not once could he reply to those that questioned their relationship. "What did she see in him anyway? It's not as if he had a lot of money..."
But they wouldn't listen to him. He shouted and screamed at them, but his language was so unknown to them, their words that only described their pitiful reactions to more and more words. Words are nothing.
And at the funeral, he did write to the priest, and he asked him if for once, he could stand at the front of the funeral, in front of them all, and if he could speak to them.
The priest, a man of God, agreed. Deep down, he didn't really know why he wished he needed to, but love drives a man to such oddities, so it was best to leave him be.
And Thomas did stand before the friends and family of the deceased. He simply stood there, and looked with gazing eyes out at the people who sat there watching them, all with tears and questioning glances. And for every eye that stared out at him, he spoke straight into their minds, he told them of his love, he told them of his compassion.
And then they heard him. For not a word was spoken, but as Thomas stood so very tall at the side of his wife, everyone finally listened, because now, at last, they had finally found the time.
Thomas wanted to smile, but he could not. He wanted to kiss his wife goodbye, but he couldn't. He simply turned his glance away from the friends and family, and looked upon her for the last time, and told her how much he loved her.
And the room smiled as one, for they finally knew. The silent boy that they had watch grown, the silent boy that they had finally realised knew more than they could possibly imagine.
And Thomas sat down again, and felt the muscles across his cheekbone tense. His eyes smiled at the priest, who smiled back at him. The priest said nothing more, and allowed himself to speak Thomas's language for the rest of the service.
Family and friends that had ignored Thomas came to him, and they thanked him... but not with words, oh no. They were past that now. They had learned of true communication, the true way of speaking to eachother.
Thomas thanked them all for their compassion, and they talked of times when Christine and Thomas had first met, and how they felt when they realised how much of a fool they've been to believe that nobody could possibly love you, and how pathetic they felt... and Thomas comforted them, and told them that he couldn't expect everyone to understand, but understanding, at least even for a single second, was enough to redeem themselves in his eyes.
And they understood.
A boy was born to loving parents, they had named him Thomas before they had even seen him, to describe him only by their already pre-arranged love.
And once they did see him, they did love him, true, but surely not in the way that once did expect. For Thomas was born with his two lips sealed, where a mouth should open, there were no more than a sealed pure skin which reached from the nose to the chin.
Thomas grew quickly, and for every day that he had to inject drugs into him, and for every moment that he had to make sure he carried enough nose inhalers and tissues to prevent him from sufforcating... none of it mattered. Not even talking. The beauty of speech which he listened to, he knew he was born to forget about. Words that meant nothing, in the end. Simple knee jerk statements that fired eachother off.
Nobody really knew why they talked. Except Thomas, and that was a pain, because he couldn't tell them.
And for once, Thomas did fall in love. A beautiful woman named Christine that bothered him only for what she saw in him, and she spoke to him softly, and he could reply, and she could understand. They lived quitely in a small house in the middle of a long tripped woods, making love occasionally and going to Church on Sundays. And they eventually became married.
For the longest of times, Thomas was invincable. Christine listened to what he could say with no mouth, her eyes tingling as he told her of how much he loved her, and how much she meant to him, and she replied sweetly only by how he would expect, and from the heart.
And came the day when Christine fell ill, and before Thomas could find the heart to speak, she died of cancer in her sleep, with passionless eyes and skin which had accepted it's fate.
And for all the worlds that could be apart from his mind, and all the words that he had once heard, for all the dreams and tales that the two did share, not once could he reply to those that questioned their relationship. "What did she see in him anyway? It's not as if he had a lot of money..."
But they wouldn't listen to him. He shouted and screamed at them, but his language was so unknown to them, their words that only described their pitiful reactions to more and more words. Words are nothing.
And at the funeral, he did write to the priest, and he asked him if for once, he could stand at the front of the funeral, in front of them all, and if he could speak to them.
The priest, a man of God, agreed. Deep down, he didn't really know why he wished he needed to, but love drives a man to such oddities, so it was best to leave him be.
And Thomas did stand before the friends and family of the deceased. He simply stood there, and looked with gazing eyes out at the people who sat there watching them, all with tears and questioning glances. And for every eye that stared out at him, he spoke straight into their minds, he told them of his love, he told them of his compassion.
And then they heard him. For not a word was spoken, but as Thomas stood so very tall at the side of his wife, everyone finally listened, because now, at last, they had finally found the time.
Thomas wanted to smile, but he could not. He wanted to kiss his wife goodbye, but he couldn't. He simply turned his glance away from the friends and family, and looked upon her for the last time, and told her how much he loved her.
And the room smiled as one, for they finally knew. The silent boy that they had watch grown, the silent boy that they had finally realised knew more than they could possibly imagine.
And Thomas sat down again, and felt the muscles across his cheekbone tense. His eyes smiled at the priest, who smiled back at him. The priest said nothing more, and allowed himself to speak Thomas's language for the rest of the service.
Family and friends that had ignored Thomas came to him, and they thanked him... but not with words, oh no. They were past that now. They had learned of true communication, the true way of speaking to eachother.
Thomas thanked them all for their compassion, and they talked of times when Christine and Thomas had first met, and how they felt when they realised how much of a fool they've been to believe that nobody could possibly love you, and how pathetic they felt... and Thomas comforted them, and told them that he couldn't expect everyone to understand, but understanding, at least even for a single second, was enough to redeem themselves in his eyes.
And they understood.
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Yeah, well, that's because you're simple and can't understand the message I'm trying to get through to people. Neeh.
:0)
:0)
Humm...well, to be honest Grix, it seemed a bit "Ramsey Street" to me. :D
Damn. :0)
Thanks all the same Pb.
Thanks all the same Pb.
Very nice story Grix, you've done it again!
Oh, and YH, apparently now they've changed their minds again and say that eating little often just builds up stomach acids and makes things worse. Damn, there goes my excuse for snacks!
Oh, and YH, apparently now they've changed their minds again and say that eating little often just builds up stomach acids and makes things worse. Damn, there goes my excuse for snacks!
Yeah, thought that myself. After all, I don't think it's a natural instinct to have three meals a day, is it? :0)
That's what hunger is. Internal clock to remind us to eat again.
That's what hunger is. Internal clock to remind us to eat again.
Apparently it's healthier to eat "little and often" than it is to eat three sqaure meals a day.
Apple wasn't that nice, so got a pear instead. Thought you'd like to know. :0D
Yeah, I agree. Usually, I do find a little itch and think I'm dying, but this time, it's like all the pieces fit together. I'm going to start my own little diet anyway, and see if that helps me.
Instead of eating three big meals a day or so, I'm just going to eat anything I can find, little and often sort of thing. I don't really eat between meals because I try to "save" myself for the big meals, because I know how much of a strain it is.
I'm going to go and get an apple. This will be the first time in years.
Instead of eating three big meals a day or so, I'm just going to eat anything I can find, little and often sort of thing. I don't really eat between meals because I try to "save" myself for the big meals, because I know how much of a strain it is.
I'm going to go and get an apple. This will be the first time in years.
Fair. You probably know more about it than I do :-D
Seriously though, I don't know if it's the way I've been brought up, but I believe that most stuff is in your head. If you have any problem, start looking at your head first, before going to the doctor or whatever.
I think that confidence and a stupid amount of cockiness can get you over most hurdles in life.
Seriously though, I don't know if it's the way I've been brought up, but I believe that most stuff is in your head. If you have any problem, start looking at your head first, before going to the doctor or whatever.
I think that confidence and a stupid amount of cockiness can get you over most hurdles in life.
It does have a lot to do with confidence, I know. But when I'm angry, happy, or whatever, it's still the same. When I really want to shout out loud about what I've done, or state my point at their face as loudly as I can, I can't. I just lock up, because I can't really think and speak at the same time. Moving my hands is easy. All I have to do, is think of the word, and spell it.
It should be the same when I'm speaking... surely? I don't have any problem with language, I can structure sentences... it's just I can spell words, but I can't say them. It's so hard to pin-point what's wrong with me, but I know that going to a doctor won't really help... I'm going to have to do this myself.
It should be the same when I'm speaking... surely? I don't have any problem with language, I can structure sentences... it's just I can spell words, but I can't say them. It's so hard to pin-point what's wrong with me, but I know that going to a doctor won't really help... I'm going to have to do this myself.
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