I love the silence. It is my friend. I always welcome the dead silence. The absence of sounds. The beautiful, pure stillness of the ugly world. I can rest and relax in the empty quiet. In the calm, peaceful, hushed, serene world. A world where I can finally be the real me. The one who hates the noise.
The ghastly drones that echoes in my ears on and on. Giving me horrible headaches and nasty feelings. The uneven thump thump thump of footsteps. The loud titter of voices around me. The crash, bang and smash. The shouts and shrieks that are never for me. The scraping and screeching of chairs on hard floor like the sound of long nails scratching a blackboard. Even the high-pitched music that is so lovely to others, but it isn't lovely to me, it is torment to me. All of the meaningless sounds. That is why I love the sound of silence. It doesn't give me headaches, bad feelings, tummy aches and earaches.
But it does give me one thing I hate. Endless nightmares. Nightmares in the cold darkness. Nightmares that never end. Nightmares that make me wake up screaming. The silence is the entrance to me for nightmares. Nightmares of that one frozen night. The night when I saw my father being murdered.
It was silent then, I couldn't find my hearing-aids. The wretched hearing-aids. I was trying to find Daddy. I did find him. But when he was being stabbed to death with a wicked knife that used to be harmless to me. His mouth was open so I knew he was screaming in pain, but I couldn't hear, I couldn't help. I stood there at the top of the stairs, knowing it was too late.
Each night I dream of that night, the night that had changed my whole life. A life that used to be easy-going and painless. The life I wish I could still lead. When I had Daddy and when my brother was well, when my Mum was a strong person and when I was happy. After that night my life transformed into a fury of life. A life where I hate myself, where my mother is depressed, where my brother is ill.
I should have lost the nightmares that followed me everywhere, I should have forgotten that night. But I haven't. And I never will.
I will never recover. The hole in my heart will never go. The wounds and scars that are imprinted inside me will never heal. I will never be better.
But Mum is worst. Also my brother is very ill. They are no better than me. I am the lucky one in the family. But I feel like I'm all alone, invisible. If I have tears in my eyes at school no one would care. No one want to know me or talk to me. I'm the freak at school. And I like it like that. Nobody will find out my secrets that destroy me each night.
I tried to make a different pain, to distract me. I cut myself, making long deep scars that healed last year. But they didn't work. They weren't powerful enough, and they didn't last long. And my mother saw them.
Mum was dazed when she saw them, her face slowly registered. But too slowly. By the time she realised what was going on I was out of the door.
I hate my new life.
I wish the nightmares and the night would vanish into thin air. Never returning.
Each night I scream, panting after I see her face. Looking up at me, from down the stairs, next to my bloodied father. With the deadly knife in her hand. The knife that cut my family forever. She would be panting as well, a fierce blood-lust look in her black eyes. In every nightmare, I turn from her to run but I feel a cold, rough hand through my thin cotton clothes. She would pull me until I'm falling with her down the stairs.
She is always in my nightmares, when it is silent. Her name is Leena.