Listening To The Silent Lyrics

What happens when your ordinary life turns into a drama? What happens when your dreams become true and you meet the love of your life? Well this is it for 16 year-old Lucy Mai. But this is no fairy tale. This is real life.

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1. Morning time

Chapter one:

Peaceful sleep isn’t a thing that I get. It’s full of the same nightmare on replay. I can still hear the screams of my family dying. The look in their eyes as they were shot down dead in front of me. If only that was a nightmare, then I’d still be okay. But in reality, it was just a memory. A memory that I can’t forget. No matter how hard the therapist tries to help me move on, it comes back. The same seven men. The same shop. The same day. 

I opened up my eyes to silence. The same silence that’s been there for six years. There were never any birds chirping outside my window in the mornings, like you see in the movies. Well, if there was, I wouldn’t be able to hear it. You see, that memory I was just telling you about, made me deaf. I am not joking. I’ve spent the last six years learning and trying to understand sign language because there is no hope of me getting me hearing back. Or that’s what my doctor said. 

I get up and put on my fluffy bunny slippers along with my dressing gown. It’s quite cold in my flat room. I haven’t got any money to pay for the gas yet. I’m not getting paid until Thursday and it’s only Monday. Mya doesn’t get any money till the day after I do. Mya is my friend. My other half basically. We’ve been through everything together. When I was at the hospital, so was Mya. But Mya was there because of an operation. That’s how we met. We were both put into the same care home. We made friends.

As our birthdays are the same day, we got chucked out to the half-way house together. But we left that. It was a room with a shower in the corner, a small kitchenette in the corner and a fold out bed in the middle of the room. I would have to pay £50 a week to stay there, which is quite a lot seeming as I don’t own much anymore. The money in my savings account (it’s only like £4,500) can only be accessed when I’m 18. 

I work in a small music store in nice part of town. It gets me £70 a week. I work there from 10am to 5pm everyday but weekends. I finished school awhile back. 4 months ago to be exact. 

Anyway I’m honestly sure you don’t want to hear about my boring old life. I walked into the kitchen where I saw Mya cooking pancakes. Yummy pancakes! She knows their my favourite. She signed ‘good morning’ to me. We’ve both learnt sign language so we know how to talk better. 

“Heya!” I say. I don’t know what kind of attitude I said that with but let’s just hope it was nice and cheerful. 

‘How are you?’ She moved her hands about in the correct way. She’s a natural at signing; I have to give it to her. She flipped over the pancake before putting it on the stack of ten already on the plate. I take out some knives and forks from the draw and lay them on the table before getting some clean plates out the cupboard.

“I’m fine thanks, and you?” Was my reply. I wish I could know how I sound. Everything could be so much better if I knew what things sounded like. 

‘Tired. I was up last night reading.’ She yawned to show her tiredness. 

“Silly you! What book?” I love to read. It’s one of my escapes of from the silence. You don’t need sound to hear. I can picture everything in my head. I can make stuff up. No one can tell me I’m wrong, because they can’t hear the things I can. They can’t hear the unheard.

Mya went to get her book off the wooden countertop and held it up to me. The Hunger Games. I’ve read that. It’s a brilliant book. I didn’t go see the movie because I know it would be torturous watching it. That’s why I don’t watch TV either. “It good?” I say after spreading chocolate spread over my first pancake. Mya nods and puts up her thumb to show she loves it. She sits down at the table with me and eats only three pancakes. She knows I love them too much to see them going in someone else’s mouth. 

After my 5th pancake, I call it time and get up to change into my work clothes. It was only a blue polo top with the shop name on and a pair of black skinny jeans. I threw on my old tattered converses and a coat before grabbing my phone and bag. 

“Bye!” I yell to Mya and start walking the twenty minute walk to ‘Strings ‘n’ things’. The owners name was Craig. He was my music teacher in year 5-8. He taught me how to play guitar. I fell in love with that instrument the second I had laid my eyes on it. I can’t remember much of what it sounds like. I remember hearing it in my favourite song from when I was little, Tears in heaven by Eric Clapton. It is a nice song. 

After a long walk through the icy London streets, I finally arrive at the store. Ahh, it’s nice and warm in here. I walked around to the door behind the counter where I could hang up my coat. Craig was sat with a cuppa in his hand and sat on the side was another mug of tea for me. I moved my hand to my chin then moved it downwards, showing I was saying ‘thank you’ to him. I picked up the drink and talk a nice long sip of it. That was until it burnt my tongue…

“SHIT!” I yelled.

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