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"Something to do with waiting"

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.

Grix Thraves wrote:
> One of my main
> problems is due to my fear of eyes, but it's not just that, I'm sure.

You are scared of eye contact? why?

Short paragraphs, start them with And. It's not difficult, really. :0)

But thanks all the same.

As for this being me? Just about all of my stories are. This one included. This is simply based around a fear that Rareware aren't going to see me for who I am, and judge me on how I speak and write to them. I can't really communicate as well as I need to, and I'm afraid I'm going to blow this thing I really need to do.

I'm a poor speaker, you see. I wrote somewhere else today about it, but to sum it up, I just can't find the words when I speak. I find it such a strain to actually speak, it's difficult to keep a constant flow of words going. I think too much too... and my thoughts and what I'm trying to say collide, and I end up pausing mid sentence, or starting off a sentence, and then finishing it, missing the bit inbetween completely. One of my main problems is due to my fear of eyes, but it's not just that, I'm sure.

I asked a speech theropist [sp] offhand if I had a problem, and she said "It's called being a man". Which is acceptable, because she was drunk at the time anyway.

But I fear it's going to be a problem, and I really do need to do something about it. When I speak, I come across as normal, because I can't really express myself truly. I blame my family, every time I try to speak they say something else louder over me. Ignorant gits. :0D

I think I'll have to practise speaking into a mirror or something. I can't stand the sound of my voice... so I start off with power in my voice, as if I'm going to finish the sentence with style... but then I hear my voice, my confidence goes, and it ends with a mumble nobody understands.

I think I'll go search the web now actually, see what I can dig up to help me.

Grix Thraves wrote:
> Thanks Rasta, Sheepy. And Cookie Monster, he doesn't need food and water, he
> actually lives off crystals which he has to grind down, and lay on his eyelids.

Oh right, how could i not see that.

That was brilliant, again.

I was wondering if you are the silent boy in any way.. I mean I don't know you very well but I tend to base things on personal experience, though it's exaggerated/adapted personal experience and I wondered if you do that too. Just interested..

hmmm I'm writing depressing things at the moment, I might finish it tonight. And yes, I agree with whoever said that your story flowed because it did so beautifully.

Thanks Rasta, Sheepy. And Cookie Monster, he doesn't need food and water, he actually lives off crystals which he has to grind down, and lay on his eyelids.

Brilliantly written, Grix. Like Jess said, your writing is almost hypnotic. No matter how long it is, when I start reading something by you, I find myself reading all the way to the end. Excellent.

How does he get food and water?

Excellent

And whilst reading this for no reason at all I remembered to ask my mum to wash my jacket thing and showed them a levitation trick and then finished reading it.

Good. :)

If you didn't notice, then great. It's a habit I get myself into, because one of the things I keep at the front of my mind when writing is "Will someone keep reading at this point?"

If it drifts off, or there's a lot of text altogether, people get bored quickly, and skim down to try and find something to latch onto to continue reading. If you can't carry it the whole way through, don't write. One or two big actiony bits doesn't make a great story. Loads of people write on here like that, with just an idea of a great big fight scene at the end, and then right to try and fit it. Build up to a big finish.

It can work, but only if the start is good enough to carry on it's own. Basically, if you write it, take away the big finish, and see if people really are interested in what happens at the end, then it should be ok.

This was writen on the basis of a "big finish", but the time that I got there I changed it, as I said. And I don't think it would be that good without that finish, so I don't really think I should be writing any of this. :0D

"Oohh" I really didn't notice that :)

I skim read far too often, it's great when I'm trying to read fast, but sometimes it's just really annoying. Why I make quite a few mistakes when I write sometimes..