Suntuubi-palvelussa käytetään evästeitä. Palvelua käyttämällä hyväksyt evästeiden käytön. Lue lisää. OK

Note: This's something that I've made up long ago, but never really got it written down anywhere. So now, here it is... Warning, character deaths/suicides/madness, don't like? Then plz don't read or at lest complain I didn't warn ya!

P.S. If you want to get an idea of how Silence looks, then check out the pic's... There's one that looks almost exactly like him... <3



    You know, my mother's been doing the same job for God-knows-how-many years, but I was never interested to know more about it. Never, until that day. And as I stand on the graveyard, in front of your tombstone, I wonder if it really was even worth it. Afterall, it only caused so much more pain for me... I think. Is that really what it was? Pain?... Silence.

    Silence Frewell, 16th October 1994 - 21st December 2008

    I can still remember that day, when I had to insist my mother to take me with her. She was going to see a new patient, as she worked to help children with mental problems (otherwise known as insane kids, who're supposed to be locked up in mental hospitals, as I always informed her). It was only part of the course, to spend a day with one of your parents, watching their job and then make a report based on your "discoveries". Otherwise I'd have never even considered having a look of what she did everyday. Anyways, that was when everything changed, that small bubble of where I'd been living in suddenly popped, and I had to look at the world as it really was... I didn't like it.

    We just drove to the house, as seen the kid was still kept home for some reason. I asked about that, but my mother was really secretive about why it was like that, so I let it drop for now. She explained to me that I might need to keep some distance, that I probably wouldn't like what I was going to see. I thought it was just her overprotectiveness. What a fool I was not to take it seriously. We arrived to the house. It was a big mansion, nothing like our small appartment in the heart of the city. This was more on the countryside, where there was a lot of space for a house like this. I watched in awe at the building, when my mother just stoped the car and slipped out of the car quickly, gesturing for me to hurry up, too.

     When we reached the door, it opened before we could knock. On the doorframe, there was standing a middle aged woman, looking at my mother with a firm expression. My mother explained as who I was and why I was here. Then we got in. The hall was huge. I kept discovering the hall as they talked about something uninteresting for me. I tuned them out, only turning my attention when two boys came down the stairs, both of them looking somehow nervous. I noticed a third boy slipping past them, walking out of the room with a frown on his face. The other two, pretty close to my own age, came to their mother. That's when I started to listen to their conversation. I heard your name, Silence, and that you were thirteen back then. The rest of the information wasn't something as regular.

    The two of your brothers told us more, and my eyes widened the longer they talked. They said that you'd never really been "here", within their reach. They'd never really been able to communicate with you, mainly because you refused to talk. Slowly, they'd started to think of you being mute and accept it as a fackt. But the real problems started when you were at the age of five. You kept slipping more and more into your own world, not even bothering to look at others when they talked to you. There also started to appear some bruises on your body. Everyone assumed there was someone in the kindergarden that had bullied you, so they kept a closer eye on you. But there wasn't any bullies, nor was there any friends for you in there. You were always alone, playing with a ball by yourself. And when others would come and snatch that ball from you, you'd just stare at the ground for the rest of the day. No one could understand where those bruises came from.

    When you were seven, you went to the school, like every other child. Of course everyone was informed that you didn't speak. They tried to make friends with you. But Silence stayed silent, unresponsive to everyone outside his own world. That's why, little by little, you were alone again. The teachers became worried, as you seemed to be intelligent, being able to write down answers to all the questions they asked, but left your homework undone and never showed any attention on the class. They also mentioned something about bad bruising. You were taken to the doctor, but they couldn't find outwhat was wrong. Everything was okay, but at the same time, there was something horribly off in you.

    At the age of ten, you started to skip school, hiding in the closets. You also started to fierce away from others even more, not wanting others to touch you or come close. Never showing any emotion or saying a word, but the message was clear; go away, leave me alone.The bruises weren't just bruises anymore either, but open cuts made with a knife. Thay started to suspect you were doing them to yourself, somehow, without anyone able to catch you doing it. The most definate prove was when you refused to let them be treated for you, just watching them bleed for hours. Of course, after that you were taken to the doctor again, but the results were same as before. They couldn't quite point where the problem was. Psychosis was the most likely opnion now, you had all the sighns for it. Thought the reason for cutting was unclear.

    By now, in three years, you'd to be dropped out of the school, since you were unable to sit through the class in peace. They also said your looks weren't something that could be shown to those other children. The cutting had went out of control and you weren't taken to the doctors because of that anymore. So now you just wondered around the house aimlessly, following your own steps day after day. They said you didn't sleep much, maybe a few hours or so, going to sleep hours later than others and waking up before sunrise. You didn't eat much either, only when someone went and searched you from the house and then fed you. By yourself you'd never do that, just starving without any problems with it. Your brothers said they liked to keep some distance to you, not because they thought you were nuts or looked ugly. They just wanted to help you in any way they could and had found that the most effective.

    All that made me picture you as a small bloody creature in a black corner. I told my thoughts to your brother and he shook his head sadly, saying it wasn't too far from the truth. That really made something flip in my stomack. My mother asked if we could search for you, so she'd be able to talk and meet you personally. I wasn't too fond to that, but agreed what so ever. We took off and I wondered once again how big the place actually was. After what seemed like eternity your brothers showed us your room, where they assumed you were most likely at that moment. Once they opened the door, I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything or maybe even puking.

    When I think about it now, that might be one of the clearest pictures in my memory, the one of your room. A bed with white sheets and one mirror and a tall window with curtains half shut, that's all there was in it. Or, at least if you didn't count all that blood on the walls. They were covered with what seemed to be sentences and words, such as "love", "kill me" and "help". They were written to the walls with, what I assumed was, your blood over and over again. But the longer I looked at them, the worse I felt. Not because it was disgusting, but because that was clearly your scream for help. Then my eyes found you. You were curled up in the corner, unmoving like dead. First I thought you might just as well be, but then I saw you flinch as we got closer. You seemed to have been napping, stirred by us coming in. You slowly turned your head to us, and my jaw dropped.

    You had a crowblack hair flowing down to your shoulders and big, dark eyes. But what startled me were those cuts. Your whole face was sliced up with what seemed to have been a knife. And after the second glance, I noticed it wasn't only your face, but your arms and legs, too. You were only wearing a loose-fitting white t-shirt, covered in blood flowing from those open wounds. I felt sick. How could someone do that to themselves? They warned me, but I didn't believe. Now it just makes me sad. Others leave the room quickly, with just me, my mother and you...

    I wonder if you thought about those moments after that ever again? Did you even want to think about them? I don't know the answer for sure, but I've a feeling you noticed the same; I couldn't stay away from you, and slowly, you started to ease a little around me. It was my mother's job to take care of you, but before I noticed, it'd become a routine for her to take me along to see you. And I could almost swear you waited for us everytime we came. The summer came and went, they said there hadn't been any progress in you. But I noticed the change; when I'd come there, you'd always wait in your room for me. Then I'd follow you to wherever you felt like going that day. Usually it meant one of the balconies, giving a beautiful view to the lake near the mansion. You might have wanted to show that scene to me. There the two of us'd sit, not doing anything or saying a word. But I could see you were starting to get more and more relaxed. The cuts didn't go away, but for some reaon, it didn't bother me as much anymore. That was a part of you for me, and I didn't try to take that away.

    I wasn't sure what kind of feelings or thoughts I had of you, but I couldn't deny I wouldn't have been looking forward to seeing you, or felt anxious whenever it was starting to be a long time since the last meeting. I didn't care what others said, in my eyes you were healing. You didn't jerk away from me anymore and sometimes you even seemed to nod when I was telling you something about my schoolday. I didn't say anything to others, but always asked my mother a permission to spend some of the time alone with you. What really made my heart flutter was that first time you showed me and actual reaction. It wasn't anything big, for anyone else than me at least; one evening, when I was supposed to go home. We'd been on the balcony, once again, when I stood up to leave. Then, on the door, I felt your cold hand take mine. I was so suprised I was almost afraid to turn around, careful not to startle you.

    Your face showed no emotion, and as I turned around you slowly let go, but there was something different. Your eyes. They'd always been the eyes of a newborn child; they were just looking, not knowing any emotion yet. But now there was something, buried deep behind the mask. Loneliness? I wasn't sure, but suddenly I felt like I couldn't just leave you there. Like you were begging for me to stay. I asked if I could stay over, but they said no. So I left your house with a heavy mind. Those kind of moments would come after that, more and more often, until I flet like crying eveytime I had to go. When we'd see again, the wounds'd be deeper than before, bleeding.

    I couldn't sleep on those nights, my mind drifting to you everytime I closed my eyes. How you'd be there, in your room, all alone with that knife probably in your hands again. I tossed and turned in my bed, but there was nothing I could do to make those imagines go away. So, as the sun rose, I picked up the phone and dialated your homenumber. I told them to go check on you. I had a really bad feeling.

    And truth, soon I could hear screams from the other end of the phone. They yelled for someone to call an ambulance, that you'd finally gone too far. I was standing numb, in the middle of my room, holding the phone even after they cut the call. When I was finally able to move, I run to my mother, telling her we'd need to go to the hospital. By the time we got there, you were already being taken care of. They didn't let me see you yet. Your mother was there, along with me and my mother. The three of us sat there, waiting for any kind of information about your condition. Hour went by before one of the doctors came to tell us they'd done all they could and now it was only a matter of time to see if you'd survive.

    It was odd how you seemed to fit to the hospitalbed. You were covered in bandages and your eyes were closed. The machines beeped around you and they'd sticked tens of needles to your skinny hands, for whatever reason they had. But even under all that, you seemed quite peaceful, more okay than anyone'd have thought. Your mother didn't stay for long (which I thought was odd) and my mother had to leave some time after that. In the end, only I stayed there with you, watching you sleep. For some reason, I wasn't as shocked as in the morning. You were right there, even if they didn't know whether you'd survive or not. But I wasn't thinking that, just looking at my sleeping beauty with a faint smile...

    I was sitting again at the edge of your bed, two and a half weeks after you'd been taken there, just the two of us alone. None of your family'd come to visit you. They said they were too tired to do this anymore. I thought that was cruel. It wasn't your fault, you coouldn't help yourself. I wanted to help you, but all I could do was sit there and hold your hand. It was ice cold, just like the rest of you. You hadn't waken up and the doctors'd said you might not ever do that. There wasn't anything wrong in your body anymore, or at least your life wasn't in danger anymore. But still you wouldn't wake up. No reaction, no sound, nothing. My mother visited you every now and then , but mostly I was sitting there alone, watching and talking to you in your sleep. After three weeks you were still calmly dreaming in your bed, not even cracking one eye open to show you were alright. But I quess you never were in the beginning. That's when I started to think about that...

    Maybe it wasn't that you couldn't wake up, but that you didn't want to. Maybe that sleeping state was better than staying awake, fighting with the pain. I smoothed your cheek. My little scarred angel... You'd suffered enought, much more than enought. It was time for you to get some rest. And I'd made my decision. I leaned closer to the bed, "You know what, angel? I think this's enought, you can give up already, if you wish to... I won't be mad, no one will... You don't have to fight anymore, this's enought..." The words stuck to my throat. I glanced at the machine next to the bed, showing your hearbeats. That's when I felt it. Your fingers twitched, just ever so lightly, holding my hand for a moment. I turned my head to see it, listening to the sounds of the machine's beeping.

    Beep, beep, beep... Beep... Beep... ... Beep... ... I could hear your breathing getting slower along with the machines sound, until it became a staright line. Your lips parted a little and it looked like you were smiling, peacefully, for the first and last time in your life. You were so beautiful to my eyes, I couldn't help but let out a few tears and a small answering smile, holding your hand tighter as your body slowly relaxed for the last time. I could feel your hand go limp in my hands, but I did nothing, just sitting there with you. There was nothing I could or even wanted to do now. I'd given you the encouragement and the choise was done. For you, as well as for me. My feelings were finally clear and nothing was going to change my mind as for what I was about to do after this.

    I remember sitting there for several minutes, thinking and watching, before the doctors came into the room (have to say it took them quite some time). After that I was pushed out of the room, quite roughtly, too. Now everything's been a blur of misty scenes. They didn't pull out a funeral to you, saying there was no one to miss. I was angry at them for that, but then again I can't say I'm going to miss you, either. No arguing. Thought, I think my reason might be a bit different from the one they were talking about.... I wouldn't need to miss you, there wouldn't be time for that.

    Here, between hundreds of gravestones, I feel at ease. The cold winter air blows around me, making the cold metal in my hands feel even more material. When I told you I wouldn't be mad, no matter what, I meant it from the botom of my heart. 'Cause no matter where you'll be, I'll always be with you. I'll make sure you'll never be lonely again. That is a promise longer than lifetime... That is my promise to you for the rest of the eternity. I whisper the last words quietly, so only you'll hear them. And somehow, I'm sure you'll. "I love you, angel. From the first moments I met you, 'till now and forever from here on."

    I give up everything for you, I promise you that... Silence.

    The gunshot echoes through the empty field and the white snow around your grave was colored bloodred. That's when I can almost swear I felt you smile to me. There's no pain, but great happiness. And as I die, only a single tear makes it's way down my cheek. I'm so happy that I met you...

    Alexis Westlake, 2nd of April 1991 - 27th of December 2008


I wonder how a bond like that can form between two sucha deifferent people? I quess no one knows the answer, but you can always quess...

Okay, this's without a doupt the longest oneshot I've written, ever. But I think this's beautiful, in it's own way. I remember creating this on a motherlanguage class, just writing the hospital-scene as something random to my phone. Never really thought I'd actually write more to it, or post for that matter... But I hope you liked it and give me some comment!

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